


Taken In

by ladylaufehson, orphan_account



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Reality, Ballet, Dad Tom Hiddleston, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylaufehson/pseuds/ladylaufehson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reyna and Camryn are twin sisters, abandoned at birth and taking refuge on the streets of London. But when a young gentleman by the name of Tom Hiddleston finds them, their lives change in a way they'll never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fleeting

**Author's Note:**

> comments and feedback are always loved! xx

Camryn's POV

* * *

When I sleep, I dream of the last night. Sitting in the closet of the room next to my sister, stuffing our few belongings into a minuscule duffel bag. A bruise was vivid on Reyna's cheek, and another was seared into my hipbone.

One of the little girls had dropped a plate at dinner, and Miss Baxter had reacted badly. Rain and I went to defend her, but it ended badly for us, denied dinner and our dignity. Miss Baxter had a compulsive need to punish people; there was always something we had done wrong. Ever since we left Yvonne's house, foster care had been hell.

Once the bag was packed, Reyna and I sat in the corner, clutching each other, shedding silent tears. The only thing that got us through the next hours was the promise of leaving.

Once dark had fallen and the house was quiet, we snuck out of our room on tiptoe and slid out a back window, hurrying across the yard and into the forest.

"Where are we going to go?" Reyna murmured, tightening her too-small jacket.

"I don't know," I whispered back. "The streets, I guess."

Reyna crumbled a leaf between her fingers. "Anything is better than Baxter's." She shivered. "Come on, Camryn. Wake up. We've got to go. The park ranger is coming."

 

 

My eyes pop open, and I'm on the same bench I took asylum on four hours before.

I rub my eyes before sliding the dirty black jacket that formerly laid over my torso over my shoulders. Reyna clutches our tattered bag, and we hurry out of the park and into the streets.

"To the laundromat, I suppose?" I inquire.

"Like always." Reyna nods, digging around in her pockets and counting the quarters. "Let's hope that we get a fair amount of change today. We're running extremely low. There's not even enough to get something to eat before the show."

I grimaced. "You know who I miss?"

Rain balances on the curb, holding her arms out to steady herself. "Who?"

"Yvonne," I reply.

Reyna and I had a long story to tell, and no one knows it but us. Our father was the director of the Royal Ballet, our mother his prima ballerina and muse. She got pregnant with twins at the height of her career, and was furious. She didn't abort us, obviously, but she did drop us off at an orphanage the moment we were born, giving us each a small silver necklace with a pointe shoe charm that bore our initials.

From there, we had a small stroke of luck. A wealthy single woman named Yvonne brought us under her foster care, and we were raised like normal kids. We went to school and did extremely well, and we were the star students at the Royal Ballet Academy, everyone marveling at the uncanny resemblance to Ariana Orton with no knowledge that she was our biological mother.

However, our luck soon ran out. When we were 13, Yvonne got pregnant and tearfully announced that she couldn't keep us.

We took the news well, considering. We packed up our bags and few pairs of pointe shoes, vowing that we'd continue to practice and someday be professionals.

We soon received a more common experience in foster care: moving around, never staying in one place too long, being bullied and out of place. Reyna and I declared Friday dance day, when we would come home from school and put on our pointe shoes, dancing in whatever space was available to us. We had to be careful with when and how we used them, however, because we never knew when we would be able to get new ones.

The only place we stayed near as long as Yvonne's was Miss Baxter's, but it was awful.

Baxter was what you'd call a foster kid hoarder. Including us, there were ten kids at that house. Baxter took all of her anger out on us, and it was no uncommon occasion to watch someone be beaten half to death. We hid our pointe shoes and our frayed book of some of Shakespeare's works- our most prized possessions- in fear of them being taken.

We finally plucked up the courage to leave, and we've been homeless ever since.

The benches have been our beds for two years, and we have to do shows on street corners to survive.

But it's still better than Baxter's.

 

 

"Yvonne was great." A car passes and Reyna hops off the curb. "Are we ever going to go back and visit her?"

"If we ever get a home," I murmur. "I don't want to accidentally guilt trip her into taking us again when we know she can't."

We enter the laundromat and duck into the single bathroom.

"You go first," I tell Reyna. "I'll go wash your load."

Reyna strips off her fading blue t-shirt with an uneven hem, her black jacket that matched mine, and her ripped jeans. She tosses the pile to me and takes her raven black hair from its ponytail, turning on the faucet and putting her head under the stream. I open the bathroom door only wide enough to squeeze through, then shut it again and go to the closest washer, putting the load in and inserting the required amount of money.

I watch as the dark fabric twists and turns around itself, then switch it to the dryer when necessary. I dry it only enough so that it's not sopping wet; our clothes were already small enough, and we didn't need to make it worse.

When the load is finished, I gather it up and go to knock on the bathroom door. I hear the lock click, and I slide back in, tossing Reyna her clothes and allowing her to put them on before handing her mine and standing in my underwear in front of the sink, letting all of my hip-length hair fall into the lukewarm dribble.

"There's not enough money for a full load," I announce dejectedly. "You'll have to shorten it."

"That's all right." I saw Reyna shrug out of the corner of my eye. "It's almost showtime."

 

 

I've always been shy around people. Sure, I could look you in the eye and carry on a formal conversation, but it takes me forever to open up to anybody on any sort of personal level. Performing is different. I could connect with people so well that it didn't matter what my feet were doing.

At the Royal Ballet Academy, my strong suits were always petit and grand allegro, pointe work, and anything that involved high kicks and extensions. Rey was perfect in her own way, with amazing turns and her flawless, fairylike movements. We'd both had our fair shares of leading roles at the RBA, and it came very in handy when deciding what to perform on the street corners. Today we happened to be doing the routine we performed when we were Spanish chocolates in the Nutcracker, hoping that it would attract a crowd.

So far it was working, because many people stopped to watch, dropping bills and coins into the small lockbox our necklaces came in. I hummed the music to myself to stay on time, and occasionally I'd peek over my shoulder after finishing a step to check our progress. A little girl with blonde pigtails claps and cheers for us, and I flash her a small smile before continuing the routine.

Just as Reyna and I were performing the final steps, I notice a very tall man bend down and drop more cash than I've ever seen in my life into the box. He stays to watch the end, a content and interested smile etched on his thin lips. Rey and I flash each other shocked looks as we hit the ending pose, amazed that someone would give us that much.

"That was beautiful, ladies," the man says in a smooth voice.

"Thank you," I breathe.

"Keep it up. You have great potential." He waves at us before departing back down the street.

I drop to my knees and pull out the giant wad of cash, counting it.

"What in the world?" I murmur to myself, counting it again. And again.

"What is it?" Reyna pushes a few strands of hair away from her face.

"Rain, do you know how much money that man left us?"

"How much?"

"One thousand pounds."


	2. Mr. Hiddleston

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

I snatch the money out of Camryn's slender fingers and run after the man, who's already turning around the next block.

"Sir? I think you dropped something." I pant as I catch up to him. Surely he couldn't have given us that much money on purpose, could he?

He turns around, and I catch a whiff of his perfume. Citrus. But before the smell could linger on my nose any longer, two intelligent aquamarine orbs gazed down at me. I got my first real glimpse of the man, and as I found myself looking at him, I couldn't help but stare. He had a perfectly chiseled face, as if carved by angels. Two cheekbones lining either side of his face, so sharp I bet if I ran my hands against them they'd get cut. The beginnings of a ginger beard were appearing around his mouth, and as he smiled to reveal his pearly white teeth, I noticed the color of his lips were perfectly pink. To top it all off, he had a head full of sleek caramel hair, gelled and styled to perfection. The man was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in a long, long time.

Blushing, I stepped back a bit before I remembered the wad of cash in my hand. Trembling, I offer it to him.

"Sir, I think you dropped this back there." I repeat in the strongest voice I could muster.

"Stop it with the formalities, darling." he chuckled with a voice as sweet as honey. "My name is Tom. Tom Hiddleston."

"Mr. Hiddleston it is, then." Ryn had caught up to us, and we joined hands and sank into a deep curtsy: our signature greeting. "What brings you here, to the streets of London?"

Tom seemed genuinely surprised by our question. "Oh, I actually live quite close by. I often take my morning jogs around the area, and I was just out to enjoy the lovely weather today." Noticing my still outstretched hand, he softly closed it around the money, and brought it back to me, planting a kiss on it before he withdrew. I flashed Camryn a bewildered look. What in the world was he doing? She stared with chocolate eyes the size of dinner plates, softly shaking her head from side to side. "Keep it." he adds with a wink. "You both are lovely ladies that have beautiful talent. May I ask where in the world did you learn such a gift?"

Before Camryn could open her mouth, I pipe up. "The Royal Academy of Ballet, si-Mr. Hiddleston."

"Well, I can see they have taught you well. Keep up the flawless work. Now if you'll excuse me, I told one of my friends I was to meet him for a cup of tea. I definitely look forward to seeing more from you girls. For now, this is goodbye", he adds with a smirk. I thrust my hand out for a handshake, again being rewarded with a soft kiss on my withered, dirty skin. I subtly step on Camryn's foot with my own, jerking her out of her reverie. "Y-yes, it was a pleasure to meet you, Tom." she says as she too, is kissed on the hand. He starts back on his path with a lengthy, graceful stride, leaving us staring at each other dumbfoundedly. As if in a dream, I shove the huge pile of bills sluggishly into our tattered duffel bag, amongst the copy of Shakespeare's works. Gazing up at the brilliant sunset fading into the London skyline, I place a small hand on my sister's back. "C'mon, Ryn. It's getting dark, and we need to find a place to sleep tonight." I mutter, as we head in the direction of the local park.

 

 

The following weeks passed by in a blur, with a new reason once more to look forward to Fridays: Tom. He made sure to show up no matter what, whether we performed as cygnets in _Swan Queen_ or gypsies in _Don Quixote_. Every time, he was sure to place the customary thousand pounds in our necklace box with a smile, leaving us in awe and hearts soaring. Last time, the man even came in the pouring rain on a particularly bad day under a huge umbrella, and after our performance, gently chided us for dancing in such terrible weather, then proceeded to usher us into the nearest building to dry off. We left enormous puddles in our wake across the floor, and with teeth chattering, couldn't help but feel sorry for whoever had to clean up the mess we made. As we ducked into the nearest bathroom that day and ran our matted hair and sopping wet clothes under the hand dryer, I zipped open the duffel bag to make sure none of our precious belongings had been damaged. To my relief, they hadn't, but the Bard's works had to be dug out from underneath an enormous amount of money, most of it provided by Tom.

Money. I sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor and whisper to Camryn, "Lock the door." As I pull out set after set of pounds, our breathing quickens as Ryn counts out just how much we have, seeming as if there was no end to the cash. "Eleven, twelve...Rain?"

"Yes?" I ask in a hoarse voice.

"There's...thirteen thousand pounds in here."

I have to pinch myself, there's no way. "Count it again." I tell her.

"I already did. Three times."

We look at each other, from the duffel bag to the bills in our hands, and back again, staring into each other's widened eyes. "No. Freaking. Way." we echo. Then comes the next rational thing to do: we scream. We scream earsplitting shrieks of joy, hugging each other and crying into the other's arms until only God knew how much time had passed. Then we are interrupted by a familiar voice and a sharp rapping on the bathroom door. "Girls, everything alright in there?" Tom! Surely we can't tell him we have this much money sitting here with us. Camryn and I quickly get to work, stuffing the precious pounds back into our bag as I wash my face and Ryn dries her tears. Then, with the utmost serious of expressions, we unlock the bathroom door as I sling the duffel crosswise across myself. "Yes, of course Tom. We're fine." Ryn reassures, not a note of wavering in her voice. "We'll just be off now."

 

 

As soon as the pouring rain ceases to a drizzle, we bid Tom our goodbyes and flee to the nearest bank, giggling like two girls who had just been asked to the school dance. Making sure not to track mud in, we wipe our feet on the mat and try to makes ourselves look as presentable as possible. I, being the more open one, approach the front counter with the duffel bag still in my hands. A kindly, aging woman looks at us with concern; I didn't blame her, given our ghastly appearance. "How may I help you?" she inquired in a monotonous voice.

"Hi, uhm, we'd like to open up a bank account please." I say, my sense of bravery now vanished. Would she think us thieves?

But to my relief, she carries on with setting everything up as if two homeless teenagers with 13 thousand pounds was no big deal at all. I look over to Camryn, who's softly humming the overture to Swan Lake to keep herself occupied. The two chairs at the opposite end of the lady's desk stand untouched; Ryn and I are too worried that we might spoil them by sitting. I gaze off into the distance, tuning myself out until I feel my sister's soft elbow nudging my ribs. "And now, if you could both fill out the information on these sheets here," the woman says, sliding a small stack of papers across the table, "we'll be on our way." I grab the pen and twirl it around in my fingers; the cool metal feeling so foreign. We quickly go through the forms, scribbling out all the information we can remember. Finally, we get to the last page, our anticipation building. Ryn stops, the pen quivering in her hand. I shoot her a worried look, and she taps to one unfilled section on the page: residence. "Shit." I curse under my breath. There was no way we'd write down that the local park has been our home for the past few months; we'd be sent to jail as suspected robbers almost immediately. We sit there, looking at each other for the fleetest of moments, then I decide to clear my throat. "Ma'am? We're so, so sorry to bother you, but we've decided against opening an account. We've only just remembered that we can place the money in a more preferable place", I lie through my teeth, a huge lump beginning to form in my throat. Ryn opens the door, ushering me through and leaving the poor woman staring at us as we slowly walk through the glass doors of the bank. Dry, hacking sobs run through our willowy figures as Camryn and I clutch at each other, leaving our last hope behind us and vowing to keep our duffel as safe as possible.

We find refuge on a long, wooden bench aside the pond, where the soft lapping of ripples provides us a small sense of solace. Crickets chirp melodiously, and I can feel the sharp sting of cold air beginning to settle in for the night. Ryn huddles next to me, our breath sending little steam clouds into the sky. "You sleep, Ryn. I'll take first watch." I tell her. She immediately curls up into fetal position and rests her head beside me, tightly wrapping her leather jacket around her slightly shivering body. Before long, I can hear her soft little snores, and smile to myself as I absentmindedly stoke her hair, gazing at the stars above. The strap of the duffel is wrapped around my waist multiple times, with the zipper facing towards me. I lean my head back against the peeling wood and sigh; what we would do with the money, we could decide in the morning. My eyelids begin to flutter, and I snap myself out of it. Just a few more minutes...

 

 

I jolt awake to the sound of nearby ducks, quacking to their hearts content. My first instinct is to check the bag still wrapped around me; breathing a sigh of relief, I count thirteen stacks of bills. Everything was still there. I glance over at Ryn, still in her deep slumber; it was the only time I ever saw true content on her features. The ancient watch on my too-skinny wrist beeps once, then five times. It was only five in the morning. Sunlight filtered through the rows of trees lining either side of the park, turning the autumn leaves brilliant shades of fire. A morning breeze whispers across the park, the trees rustling their leaves back in response. Stifling a huge yawn, out of the corner of my eye I see a dark figure approaching our bench, Mumford and Sons blaring so loudly I can only assume it's a jogger. Regent's Park attracted so many of them on a daily basis it was nothing to be worried about. However, the figure was quickly approaching us and getting a little too close for comfort. As it came closer and closer, I clutched the duffel tighter to my chest and went to shriek at Camryn to wake up, but before I could do so, I was abruptly stopped short. "Ryn, wake up." I hiss at her.

"Hm?"

"Someone's come to see us."


	3. The First Night

Camryn's POV

* * *

 

I immediately sit upright, glancing warily up at the tree-like figure in front of me. A long-fingered hand reaches up to remove a pair of sunglasses, those oceanic eyes studying us carefully.

"What are you girls doing out here?" Tom asks. "Won't your parents be worried?"

"We just- we...um..." I stutter.

"Why do you have that duffel bag tied around you, Reyna?" Tom settles down on the bench, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Um, I just..." Reyna trails off.

"Girls, is there something you're not telling me?" Tom's eyes flit from Reyna and I as we try to telepathically form a reasonable explanation.

"You two!"

"Shit," I murmur under my breath as the park ranger approaches, clutching the walkie-talkie at his shoulder.

"What seems to be the problem?" Tom turns to the ranger. "This is a public park, and they have every right to be here."

"This is the third time in a month I've caught them sleeping here, and not to mention the times before, even after I've told them to find somewhere else to stay. They're going to have to leave." The ranger takes off his hat and scratches his hairless head.

Tom's eyes widen and I cringe, bracing myself for The Question.

He slowly runs his hands through his hair, his expression growing even more shocked each agonizing second. "Do you girls... have a home?" Each word that leaks out of Tom's mouth is slow and careful.

Reyna and I cast each other solemn, defeated looks. We couldn't lie now. I shrugged, pulling my knees to my chest and hiding my face.

It was Reyna who finally spoke up. "We don't."

"And how long have you been without a home?"

"Two years," I murmur into my thighs, my speech muffled.

Tom runs his tongue over his lips, fidgeting noticeably.

"Alright," he finally says. "Come with me."

I look up from my knees. "We couldn't."

"You can." Tom stands up, jerking his head to the right. "My flat's this way."

I look to Reyna. "Should we?" I whisper.

"Might as well. He's offering, and this IS the man who gave us thirteen thousand pounds."

I nodded. "Okay. But...not for too long, right? You know I hate the whole guilt trip system."

"Not for too long," Reyna echoes. "Of course."

"Ladies, are you coming?" Tom calls over his shoulder.

"Yes, yes. Coming." I put my hand in the brittle grass to steady myself as I stand up, taking timid steps towards Tom, reminding myself of a young deer approaching foreign ground.

"My flat isn't far from here," he narrates, trying to lighten the mood as we start down the street. "I go on early morning runs like this nearly every day, so I know all the shortcuts."

I hum in acknowledgment that I heard him and bite my lip. Inside my head, a voice rages at my actions.

"You're guilt tripping him and you know it. You nasty little freeloader. You could have made up some lie, anything. And now you're just going to let him take you under his wing and spoil you? Why don't you work for yourself for once? You know, you deserve to be homeless. You deserve it."

"Camryn." Reyna nudges me. "You alright?"

"Fine." I swipe at a tear that pooled on my cheek.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

 

 

The rest of the walk is silent, and only Tom looks at us, casting occasional glances behind himself to make sure we were following. Even when we enter his flat, our gaze remains on our shoes as he locks the door behind us.

"Well, come on in." Tom motions us away from the foyer. "I'm going to get you two something to eat, and then we can talk."

I finally force myself to look up from the plush white carpet. We're standing in his living room, which is neat and modern. A large, flat-screen television is mounted on the wall, a stack of DVDs resting on the coffee table alongside a copy of Coriolanus and an empty teacup on a coaster. A few photos of him and two girls similar in appearance reside on the mantle over a beautiful fireplace, and a black leather wraparound couch sits in the center of the room.

Not wanting to soil the cleanliness of the room with two years' worth accumulation of dirtiness, I step on the heel of my boot and slide my foot out.

Rey does the same.

"You girls coming?" Tom calls from the kitchen. A heavenly smell tickles my nose. "You should know, I don't bite. "

We step into the kitchen, which is just like the living room: neat yet well-used. Every appliance anyone could possibly need is present, and a colorful oven mitt hangs from a hook over the stove where Tom stands, peering into a steaming pot.

"I've got some tea for you." He motions to the bar, and we slowly slide into the stools. I hesitantly wrapped my hands around the cup, savoring the warmth. When was the last time we had tea? I took a slow sip, the delightful liquid warming me from the inside out. My next gulp was greedy.

"The last time we had tea was when Yvonne told us she couldn't keep us," Reyna whispered.

I set my cup down, grimacing at the memory. "Let's just...enjoy it while we can, alright?"

"Agreed." Reyna nods.

"What have you girls been eating for the past two years?" Tom asks.

"Depends," I admit. "Sometimes we'll get a cheap loaf of bread and maybe a bit of old cheese from the market, if we're lucky. Most of the time we sit behind restaurants for the things they throw out, like burnt meat and bad vegetables. If we save up enough money, we'll go to a diner and share something small."

Tom looks shocked. I suppose it would be so, finding out that two people that you had known for a while were homeless. His reaction is barely surprising. I duck my head and take another sip of tea.

"Well, I hope this makes up for two years lacking proper meals." Tom hands us each a bowl with large, steaming portions of cheesy tomato soup.

"Thank you," I breathe. Reyna immediately dunks her spoon into the soup and takes a ravenous slurp.

"It's my pleasure." Tom produces a pan and places a pat of butter in it to melt. "Do you girls like grilled cheese?"

Reyna nods. It's her favorite.

"That's good. And there's always more soup if you'd like some."

I look down and realize that my bowl is empty.

 

 

After three generous helpings of soup and a whole grilled cheese sandwich each, Reyna and I sit on Tom's couch as he stands up to fetch the television remote. I constantly look down at the leather seat, afraid I've dirtied it.

Reyna leans forward and examines the films on the coffee table, none of which we recognize. The last movie we watched was at Yvonne's, a Disney film- Beauty and the Beast.

"Is that you?" Reyna holds up the case for a movie called Thor. Tom's name hovers over a photo of a man with a sinister grin.

"Yes, that is. I suppose I never told you my profession, did I?" Tom looks over his shoulder at the DVD.

"So, you're an actor," I clarify.

"I am, and I suppose I'm alright at it." His cell phone rings in his pocket, and he ducks out of the room to answer it.

"That explains the thirteen thousand pounds just laying around to give to two random street performers," I comment.

"I'll say." Reyna thumbs through the copy of Coriolanus. "I like it here. I'd love to stay."

"Rey, you know we can't."

She sighs. "I know. Tom's just so nice, and so hospitable."

"In two years we'll be eighteen and we'll be able to get a house of our own and jobs. In the long run of things, it's not that long." I squint my eyes shut to keep tears at bay. "I just can't stand being a freeloader."

Tom reenters the living room.

"If you two want to take showers, you're free to do so. I'll show you where the bathroom is."

"That would be nice, actually," Reyna replies. "Do you want to go first, Ryn?"

"No. You can go."

"I'll go get some clothes for you two to change into, and then I'll show you where to go." Tom strides up the stairs, skipping steps. Reyna follows, leaving me alone in this alien living room.

 

 

"So," Tom says when he returns, sitting on the couch next to me. "What's your story?"

"Excuse me?"

"How did you get to be homeless?"

"Oh, right." I sigh. "Well..."

I spill everything. Ariana Orton being our mother, Yvonne, Yvonne making us leave, foster care, the Baxters.

"When it got miserable, we would just tell each other, 'This is better than Baxter's. This is better than being bullied, abused, and neglected.' One time I got sick- really sick, but we couldn't afford a hospital. Reyna was trying to go find some cheap medicine and I just laid behind a dumpster, saying that over and over." I shuddered. "And Baxter had this daughter, too. A biological one. Katie, her name was."

"What about her?" Tom looks at me expectantly.

"I will forever hate Katie Baxter."

"What did this Katie Baxter do that was so bad?"

"She was determined to make mine and Reyna's life hell." Even now, I can conjure up the perfect image of her. Her beady eyes, framed by lenses too big for her face, the fact that she stretched up on her toes in a desperate attempt to be intimidating and look me in the eye, and her congested drawl of a voice. "She was in the same grade as us. She constantly teased and tormented us, and made all of her minions do the same. And when she had some misfortune, she would blame it on us. Of course, she was a spoiled brat, and Baxter punished us for it."

Tom shakes his head. "Forgive me for being so bold, but she sounds awful."

"She is!" I groan, opening up and showing a bit of my personality that I only had around Reyna. "Ooh, I'd love to give Katie a piece of my mind."

"Maybe you'll have that opportunity someday." Tom becomes silent for a moment, lost in thought. "You don't deserve that, a life on the streets. You don't deserve it at all."

Unsure of what else to do, I shrug.

"I'm going to give you the life you deserve to have, if you'll allow me. I can sense that you feel like I'm doing it out of pity; that you're guilt-tripping me. But you're not. I want to do this. I've always wanted children, someone to take care of, and now-"

"It's all yours, Ryn." Rey parades down the steps, cleaner than I've ever seen her. She wears a white t-shirt that is much too big for her, and black sweatpants that she has to roll three times. "Thank you so much, Tom."

"You're welcome, Reyna." He turns to me. "I've laid your towels and change of clothes out. Just leave what you're wearing on the floor, I'll wash it tonight."

"Thanks." I stand up from the couch and Reyna takes my place as I mount the carpeted stairs alone.

 

 

The landing and hallway are dark, but a bright light shines from the opened door of the bathroom.

I step in and take note of my surroundings. The towel rack supports two royal blue towels, and a pair of grey sweatpants and a sky blue t-shirt is also slung over the rod. The walls are done in small baby blue and white tiles, and the sink is a clean white, a candle and bottle of scented soap perched on the sides. I notice that he's also laid out toothbrushes for us.

I lock the door behind me and undress, dropping my clothes on the rug. I pull aside the shower curtain and fiddle with the faucet for a while before I realize how it works. I'm finally able to turn the water so hot it steams, and I step into the stream.

It's been two years since I've had a shower, and God knows how long it's been since I've had a hot one. I let the water unknot my muscles, thinking that this feeling is much better than being bent over a dirty sink.

When I remember what showers are actually for, I search around the little books for some shampoo. I find it and squeeze a generous amount into my palm, massaging my scalp, watching the dirt and grime of the past years swirl down the drain.

 

 

It's three past midnight. Reyna lays next to me in Tom's guest bed, her arms wrapped around my torso, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

I had been to anxious to sleep before, worried that when the clock struck midnight that this would all disappear and we'd be back in the streets, begging the manager of McDonalds to spare us some burnt fries. Now that it was still here, I was finally tired.

The moment my eyes shut, the door to the bedroom opens, a slice of yellow light shining onto the floor. I open my eyes just enough to see what was happening.

Tom leans against the doorway, a sated smile on his face. He stands there for a moment, as if he wants to do something, but he decides against it and leaves.

"Goodnight, girls," he whispers as he shuts the door behind him.


	4. Revealing

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

"Where am I?"

"Oh, don't you worry, my sweet. Miss Baxter has come to take you home," the evil monster croons. "I've already got your sister." she cackles as Ryn is produced from behind her back, bound and gagged.

A silent scream forms on my lips as I shoot up so fast in bed I swear I'm going to get whiplash. Beads of sweat gather at my temple, and I wipe them away with a shaking hand. I glance over at Ryn, and then at the clock with its glowing green numbers: 2 am. Only a nightmare, I reassure myself, although that image of Camryn still makes my heart pound against my chest. I check and double check to make sure she's still laying beside me in this enormous bed of Tom's, and to my relief, she is, her sides gently rising and falling with each breath and a halo of hair encircling her face. I lay back down and try to go to sleep, finding only that with each waking moment I fear more and more for the sake of both our lives. Hot tears begin spilling down my face and soaking the front of Tom's shirt, and through blurred vision I make out 3 am on the clock. It had already been a hour past, a precious hour of sleep wasted. But who could I go to, at this ungodly time of night? Then it hit me: Tom. As kind as he's been to us, perhaps he could make all the bad things go away and help me sleep again. I quietly sneak out of bed, making sure to tuck Camryn in before tiptoeing down the hallway and finding myself at the last door on the right, that familiar scent of citrus and fresh air stronger than ever. This must be his room. I press my ear against the wooden door and raise my hand to knock on it, only to be reprimanded with a light snore.

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath. "He's fallen asleep."

Silently sobbing, I fall to my knees in front of the closed door, feeling more alone now than ever and wishing blackness would come quickly. Tucking myself into a ball at the foot of the door, I rock back and forth, tremors spreading through my body like little earthquakes, and all I can do is say "Tom" over and over and over again until finally, thankfully, sleep comes once more and I fall back into a dreamless night.

 

 

I awake to the feeling of a cool, smooth surface underneath me and realize I'm not on carpeted floor, but on leather. Cracking an eyelid open, I find myself in the living room again, Tom reclining next to me on the other side of the sofa. Softly humming, he strums at a guitar, pick in his mouth and brow furrowed in concentration. The welcoming London showers fall at the glass windows, and I pull myself up into a sitting position and wrap the blanket around me tighter, staring blankly at the rain. "Good morning, Reyna," Tom chuckles as he sets the guitar aside. "I almost stepped on you this morning as I was getting up."

Blushing, I stammer and realize the trouble I made Tom go through in the night as a voice in my head chants, "Selfish freeloader, selfish freeloader" over and over again. Without warning, tears begin spilling down my face and I wipe at them with my fingers, the haunting memories of last night hitting me like a train.

"Hey, hey! Reyna, what's the matter, dear?" Tom slides over to me with a concerned expression on his face. "Was it me?"

I shake my head, burrowing it deeper into my chest. Then I feel an unfamiliar hand at my back, rubbing small circles along it. I shy away from Tom, skittering as far away as possible from him. He sighs, and runs one hand through his curls, the other resting awkwardly on his thigh, then gets up to go to the kitchen. I can't bear keeping it from him anymore. "Tom," I sob as I look over at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Wait."

That was all he needed. Immediately he turns and comes back to the sofa, pulling me into his lap and stroking my unkempt locks. "Shhhh, Reyna. I'm here, and I'm here to help. Tell me everything, when you feel ready." he mumbles into the blanket. The last of my tears streaks down my cheek, and then no more.

"Wh-where's Ryn?" I finally manage.

"Camryn? She's upstairs, sleeping. I thought it would be better to let her rest." Tom smiles. Relief floods my face, and I manage the smallest of grins. She's safe.

"Do...you want to tell me what's wrong now, Reyna?" Tom worries. "Perhaps I can help."

Shaking like a leaf, I do what I have only done with Ryn before. I first remove the blanket off myself and discard it to the side, then remove myself from Tom's embrace. Facing away from him, I hold up my hair with one hand and drag the neck of his shirt down enough to expose my shoulderblades, neck, and half of my spine with the other. Splattered all over myself are jagged scars and welts in the shape of hands, red even still after two years on copper skin. No words are needed; trembling, I cover myself up again and face him, not prepared for what I see. Tom has the expression of utmost horror and sorrow, tears now falling from his eyes. He holds out two arms, and I rush into them again. "There are more," I whisper as I hold my arms out and roll up the legs on the sweatpants; my body is like a patchwork quilt, littered with scars of numerous sizes and bruises that still haven't faded, after all this time.

"Who-"

"Baxters." I reply, gritting my teeth. "All of them."

"But why? Why would they do this?" Tom gasps.

"Me and my big mouth, I guess." I weakly laugh. "I was the one in the house that always questioned everything we were asked to do, from cleaning the bathrooms that they left messy on purpose to doing things that were not physically possible for us. One time, Ryn and I were asked to hang the new curtains without any ladder or anything, so we climbed up from the tallest thing in the room we could find: the head of the couch right underneath the windows. As Ryn was struggling to hold up her side of the rod, her foot slipped and she fell to the carpet, her ankle twisting at an odd angle and screaming in pain. Immediately I dropped the curtains and carried her the best I could to the basement, where we slept. After laying her on the bed and splinting her ankle up the best I could with a shirt of mine and two books, I ran upstairs, screaming at them about why they made us do the things in the house that were clearly impossible and how they were monsters, all of them. It was dinnertime-" I pause, and lift up the hem of Tom's shirt, exposing three small holes in my side, all lined up neatly in a row.

"I guess a fork was the only thing they had at their disposal at that moment, and she used it." I lift the shirt back down and look back at Tom, his normally rosy cheeks turned a sallow white and the light in his eyes faded. Yet I still continue.

"No one knows I have PTSD, Tom. Not even Ryn. Every time I have a flashback, naturally I curl up into a ball and scream for everything to go away. Every time she asks what the matter is, and every time I reply back with the same answer: hallucinations. She believes me because I'm always underfed; those cause hallucinations more often than not. But I hate it. Her not knowing the truth. I want to tell her, I really do. She's my sister. But I'm afraid she'll only worry more, and she's got enough things on her mind already. I don't want to burden her with any more than she's already taken in." I finish lamely, glancing at Tom. His mouth is slightly agape, eyes widened in absolute fear. "Tom?"

He snaps out of his trance and exhales, as if he's been holding his breath this entire time.

"Yes, Reyna?"

"Can...you please keep that a secret? My PTSD, I mean. I'll tell Camryn myself, when the time is right."

"Of course, darling. Anything." he consoles as he grips me tighter, like I was a loose sheet of paper that would blow away the second he let go. I allow myself to wrap my fragile arms around his frame and sink into the hollow of his sternum, where I can hear his heartbeat, and find comfort in that. We sit like that for a long time, just a broken girl and an angel of a man, on the couch before I turn my head and gaze out at the windows once more.

 

 

"Rain."

"Hm?" Tom looks at me questioningly.

"That's my other nickname." I ponder. "According to the stories Ariana apparently told us, I was born in a rainstorm just like this one, hence my raging temper. But Ryn seems to think of it as a sort of comfort. The London rain always provides a sense of solace from our worldly problems, no matter how short of a timeframe, and since I've always been there to comfort her, she calls me 'Rain' from time to time."

"Well, it's a lovely nickname for a lovely girl." Tom muses. I blush; I don't think anyone has ever given me a compliment, save Camryn and Yvonne. It's nice.

Tom is stuck in some sort of deep thought; his eyes, now a shade of emerald, have glazed over the slightest bit. "Reyna?"

"Yes?"

"Wou-...would you and your sister like to stay here, with me?" he finishes with another long exhale. But before I can say a single word in protest, he puts a finger to my lips. "Shhh. I know you think you're forcing this on me, that you will be a burden. I can see it in both of you girls' eyes. But like I said to Camryn last night, I am doing this purely out of my own will, I promise. I've always wanted kids of my own, but I guess I've not found the right woman to settle down with. And then here you two girls are, the perfect kids someone could ever wish for. I don't know why Ariana ever abandoned you, but all I know is that I am grateful to have found you and Camryn. I swear to be the perfect father to the both of you, someone who will take the best care of you, look after you, be proud to call you his daughters. Both of you deserve a life much better than your previous one, and I hope you'll allow me to do that for you." Finished with his declaration, Tom leans back on the couch. A pregnant pause follows, with me opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water.

"Uhm..."

But before I could say anything else, Tom's cell phone rings, Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" announcing itself to the world. Without hesitation, he takes it out, and before answering the call, mouths "Sorry, really important" and gets up from the couch, but not before he sees me whisper back to him "No worries. We'll talk about this later." I am alone once more, and as I look around to find something to entertain myself with, I spot a book as thick as the arm of the couch with gorgeous red lettering on top of the coffee table. Grabbing it, I notice the title: The Entire Collection of William Shakespeare's Works. I smile, grateful that Tom is also a fan of the Bard, and settle myself back down on the couch, swaddling myself in the blanket for the third time that day. With no sense of time whatsoever, I begin flipping through the book until I find Othello, one of my favorites. As I get lost in the frivolous plots of Iago and the vixen of Desdemona, my eyelids start fluttering, and with a sigh, I put the collection down in my lap. The last thing I remember is a pair of warm hands extracting the book from me and gently setting it aside, the foreign feeling of getting tucked in, and a surprise: soft lips brushing my forehead like butterflies. "Sleep well, Reyna," Tom whispers in my ear before flicking the lights off. Darkness once more, and for the first time in forever, sleep comes peacefully and mercifully.


	5. Unwanted

Camryn's POV

* * *

 

There they go, my cryptic dreams.

Tonight I'm dancing on a lake, floating on the water. I'm a swan, or rather, a girl with swan wings instead of arms. Great, black, beautiful wings. The finale of Swan Lake plays softly in the background, and I float over the water, my reflection grinning back at me.

As my dance reaches its climax, three other swans fly into the lake, so white it hurts to look at them. I instantly take off to a dangerous portion of the lake, protected by great jagged rocks.

I begin to dance again, but I trip on one of the rocks and fall down it, a long gash cutting its way down my wing. I sit there gasping for a moment, paralyzed.

"Reyna!" I scream. "Reyna, help!"

She emerges from the water, her dark eyes alight with hatred. Her whole body drips with blood, old wounds reopened. Her hair is limp and matted, and the bottoms of her feet are blackened. Her skin is sallow and pale, her lips dry and cracked, dark shadows defining her cheekbones. She looked absolutely terrifying, and she sneered as she floated towards me.

"I'm tired of helping you, Camryn," she hisses. "Look at me. Look at me! I've got my own problems to deal with. I've got problems on a scale that you can't even comprehend! Yet, I can't help myself, because my whiny brat sister can't keep herself out of trouble. You know what? Maybe you should speak up and defend yourself for once. Stop being so damn shy and making me do everything! Perhaps if you did that, people would want you. Because they sure don't now."

Her foot rams into my shoulder, and I tumble into the water, waking with a jerk. As I lay my head back down on the unfamiliar pillow and pull the blankets around me, I can't help thinking that the dream had more truth than I wished to accept. I'm the sister that can't fend for herself.

 

 

I push the covers off of myself and go to the window, pushing it open forcefully and letting the rain fall onto my face.

It's true, what Dream Reyna said, and more.

The most I have as a token from the Baxters is a scar on my foot from when Miss Baxter broke a plate in rage and one of the pieces nicked my arch. The worst I got was verbal abuse, but what are a few tear tracks compared to a lifetime of old wounds?

I hide my problems away in a little bottle of shyness. I tell myself that they don't matter, yet they keep creeping out in the open. I'm the one who never wants to stay anywhere, in fear of freeloading. I'm the reason we're homeless. I'm the reason for her scars.

I know I'm the boring one. I know that the most I have to get people interested in me is the RBA and the fact that I'm homeless. If this were a novel, Reyna would be the heroine and I would be the sister that shows up in a few chapters for character diversity. I'm trying to accept it, but it's not going well.

Of course, though, I'm too shy to change it.

A tendril of wet hair smacks me in the face, bringing me out of my trance. I look behind me and notice that the carpet around me is damp, and I curse as I shut the window. Just another mess from Camryn.

I peer out the window again, this time focusing on the wet blanket of grass. The jump isn't terribly far, but it's definitely far enough to kill me. If I died, Reyna could be happy. She wouldn't have to worry about me. Those thirteen thousand pounds would be all hers. She would stay with Tom and someday lead a normal life. It's what she needs.

"Selfish bitch," Baxter's voice echoes in my ear. "Stop making your sister do everything and face me yourself."

I put my hand on the latch, ready to turn it and end it all. But was I really ready to have my deepest secret revealed?

I lay my forehead on the cool glass and take a deep breath.

"I'm not ready just yet," I whisper. "But I think I will be, soon."

I go back to the bed and lay staring at the ceiling. Reyna was always the funny one, the beautiful one, the smart one, the strong one. I was always the nothing one.

I let the tears come, and they come in a torrent.

I lay on my side, clutching a pillow to my chest and biting my lip.

"Get up, attention whore. Do something."

"Shut up," I mutter to the voice, swinging my feet onto the floor and making my way to the door.

The moment I step into the hallway, I hear Reyna laugh. I suppose they've been getting further acquainted while I've been sulking in my room.

"At least they could speak without rain cloud over here ruining the fun."

"I said to shut. The. Hell. Up," I growl.

The voice withdraws.

 

 

"Well, look who decided to come back from the dead!" Reyna greets.

"Hi," I say quietly.

"Tom's making dinner in the kitchen, and I found this tv show that came out a few years ago. You've got to watch it, it's totally your thing." She pats the couch next to her. I sit.

"What is this new show?" I ask.

"I can't remember what it's called. I think it was Superficial, or Superhuman, or-"

"Supernatural," I hear Tom call from the kitchen.

"That's what it was." Reyna snaps her fingers. "Supernatural."

"And why is it my thing?"

"All that blood and gore and demon lore- hey! That rhymes."

I laugh.

"You must have been tired," Reyna comments as the show begins. "I don't think you've ever slept that long."

I shrug. "Me neither. What about you? How did you sleep?"

She makes a sound halfway between a snort and a scoff. "Like a new mom."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad."

 

 

"Dinner's ready, ladies." Tom ushers us into the dining room and we sit. He hands us our plates, stacked high with pasta covered in sauce and bread.

"Thank you, Tom." I stare at my plate longingly.

"It's my pleasure." He turns on his heel. "I'll be right back."

Reyna takes a large bite of bread. "You know, this is the first time we've lived with someone who can cook. Yvonne was all ramen noodles and takeout Chinese."

"Which wasn't bad," I admitted. "But it didn't add to the mother factor. More like a young aunt."

"True," Reyna agrees as I take a forkful of pasta. It's delicious.

"I can't believe I didn't remember that last night," Tom comments as he enters the room again.

"Remember what?" Reyna asks. A look passes between that makes me think that they share a secret. I wonder what it is.

"The closet in the guest room is stuffed full with my sisters' clothes. They may not fit you two perfectly, but I think they'll do until I can take you two shopping. Once you girls finish eating, you can get dressed and we can go."

"Go where?" I inquire.

"I'm going to take you girls out for ice cream."

My mouth waters. I daresay I've forgotten what ice cream tastes like. Suddenly eager, I wolf down my food and hurry upstairs.

 

 

A few minutes later, I'm dressed in a deep red, knee-length cotton dress that's almost burgundy, a jean jacket, and my own boots. I can tell that Tom's sisters are a little curvier than I am, but the clothes are just right as far as length. My hair has been brushed and pulled into a neat side braid, and I even put on some mascara and lip balm that I found under the sink in the guest bathroom. I used to wear makeup every day at Yvonne's, and I almost feel like my old self again.

Reyna is wearing a pair of black jeans, a sparkly purple top, and a leather jacket. Her wavy hair rests lightly on her shoulders, and she too is wearing her old boots.

Tom is waiting for us when we come downstairs.

"You look lovely, ladies." He smiles broadly, like he's proud.

We both murmur thank you's and he leads us to the front door. When we step out on to the streets, me on his right side and Reyna on his left, he reaches out and takes our hands in his.

It seems like a simple gesture, something natural. But to me, it feels fatherly. It feels protective. It feels safe.

He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.

 

 

We start down the streets, all still hand-in-hand, and everything is calm until we approach the street where the ice cream parlor is. A crowd of photographers crouches on the corner, rapidly snapping photos. Paparazzi.

"Damn," Tom swears under his breath.

"What do we do?" Reyna asks. She studies them as best she can without turning her head.

"Just ignore them."

Tom ducks his head and quickly leads us into the parlor. "You girls go decide what you want. I'm going to talk to my publicist."

Tom stalks off to a corner, his voice low as he talks on his phone, and we approach the counter. There were so many choices, and I had no idea what to choose.

Tom returns, the smile back on his face. He slings his arms around our shoulders, another simple yet weighted gesture, and leads us up to the counter. He and Reyna both order Dutch chocolate. I get the chocolate cookie dough.

We find a table near the corner and indulge in the ice cream. Half of mine is gone within five minutes, and we ordered larges.

Tom and Reyna sit next to each other, facing away from the exit, which is made entirely of glass. I sit across from them, facing the outside of the parlor. They talk and laugh, and they seem to be good friends. I listen quietly to their interactions, focused on my ice cream until something catches my eye.

 

 

Katie Baxter trots into the store, dressed in a ridiculous oversized sweater and hat. The look doesn't suit her. Three girls follow her, giggling and calling out to her, practically worshipping the ground she walked on.

"Oh, Katie," one of them drawls. "That sweater is so cute on you."

Katie throws them a smug look over her shoulder. "I know."

My stomach drops. Don't look at them, I think. Don't look at them and they won't notice you. I suddenly become very intrigued with the chunks of cookie dough in my ice cream. Just look down and they won't notice you.

"Oh, shit," I murmur, so quiet it's almost inaudible. Katie was a Tom fan. A massive Tom fan. I suddenly can't believe I didn't recognize him, even if he did change dramatically in the past two years. If Katie sees Tom, she'll see me. But surely she won't say anything in front of him, right? But that's not a possibility.

Tom laughs loudly, and I know that if Katie hears that she'll recognize it.

Shh, I desperately want to say. Be quiet or they'll see us!

I take a small bite of my ice cream. My hand shakes as I lower my spoon.

"Oh, no," I can hear Katie say from the counter. As usual, she sounds like she needs to blow her nose.

"What is it, Kate?" One of her friends asks.

"Why did my mum have to come?"

I nearly choke on my ice cream, which seems nearly impossible. I allow myself to glance up, and sure enough, Miss Baxter is there. She and her daughter look exactly alike: ill-fitting clothes, bad glasses, short, mousy-haired, congested.

I'm suddenly terrified. I can't take another bite. My dearest wish was to run right out of the parlor and back to Tom's house, lock all the doors and windows behind me, and burrow under the covers of his guest bed.

"Camryn?" Reyna asks. "What's wrong with you?"

I moisten my lips, searching for my voice.

"Baxter," I croak.


	6. Confrontation

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

My knuckles instantly clench underneath the table so tightly they turn white. I lower my spoon back down, and move my head the slightest fraction of an inch to make sure Ryn wasn't messing with me. To my utmost despair, she wasn't. I slowly sink lower into my seat.

"And so after the rehearsal, she-Reyna?" Tom stops abruptly in the middle of our conversation. "What is it?"

There is blood pounding in my ears. Stars shimmer before my eyes, and I shakingly tug the sleeves of the leather jacket down as far as I can. I look over at Ryn, and there is fire in her expression. Suddenly, I feel as if the ice cream I've already eaten will come back up in an instant. I turn to Tom, and have the courage to only speak three words. "Baxter", I whisper. "Behind us."

Tom whirls around, perhaps a bit too soon. As Katie is heading out the door, entourage in tow and pistachio ice cream already dribbling onto her sweater, she spots our booth, but only sees Tom's face. Camryn and I are hiding under the table, clutching at each other and fearing for our lives. Tom casually shrugs out of his jacket and lays it across the seat, acting nochalantly as if nothing had ever happened. He pulls out his cell phone and pretends to be talking to someone, just as Katie is making a beeline for us.

 

 

"Oh my gosh, you're Tom Hiddleston, right?" she squeals like a piglet.

"Sorry Luke, I've got a fan. Call you back soon." Tom murmurs into the phone before turning towards Katie. "And you're Katie Baxter, right?" he echoes.

"Wait...how do you know me?" she asks, clutching a hand to her heart. Ugh. She always had a thing for overdramatizing. We roll our eyes under the table, staying as silent as possible.

"Oh, I've heard things about you, my dear."

Katie, too starstruck to do anything, suddenly bursts into tears and becomes even more of a blubbering mess than she already was. She starts talking about how Tom has always been this huge inspiration to her and if it weren't for him, she would be terribly off, blah blah blah. However, Tom doesn't forget about us.

"Would you like a picture, dear?" he says with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Ohmygosh you really mean it?!?!" she screeches. Dear god, child. You're making us go deaf.

"Yes, I do," he smiles. "Now where's your phone?"

Katie starts to bring it out, and Tom takes a few shots with her before giving it back. "It was nice to meet you, Miss Katie." he offers with a strained smile.

"Wait...Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"Let me bring my mom here! She'll take more pictures!" Katie exclaims with glee, scurrying off like the vermin she is. Tom is visibly shaking now, his hands balling up into fists. I'd bet all thirteen thousand pounds that right now, all he sees are my scars in my head, over and over again. I begin to wail, but before any sounds can come out, Ryn claps a hand over my mouth. I am clawing now, at everything, at anything. Just let me get to her, I think. I begin uttering stream after stream of curses, and Ryn just holds me tighter. We both hear the clack of heels getting louder and louder, and we freeze. Camryn's hand is still over my mouth, and her arms still around me. All I can think about is breathing. In, out. In, out.

 

 

"Mum, look! It's Tom! TOM HIDDLESTON!" Katie squeals again, pulling on a pair of grubby arms that could only belong to Miss Baxter. Tom extends a hand out.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am." he says forcibly. I can hear his nostrils flaring, and right now, I daresay he's even angrier at her then I am. "You've a nice daughter there."

"Yes, I know." she harrumphs.

Then Katie notices the two other cups of ice cream sitting on the table along with Tom's. I want to screech at him, the cups, the cups! How could you forget the cups?

"Um...why are there three ice creams when there's only one person?"

Tom freezes, then runs his hands through his hair, trying to pass off his nervousness. "Surely you must know that I eat my ice cream in a unique way," he reprimands. "Isn't that what all the REAL fans know?"

But Katie is not impressed. She's actually quite taken aback, and I know she's about to throw one of her little tantrums.

 

 

"I thought you were nice!" she yells, looking for any more signs of other people with Tom. She's getting too close, and I try to scoot my legs in before she catches a glimpse of them. But it's too late. A glint from my boot catches her eye, and even she can make the connection between those shoes and their owner. In a flash, she grabs the heel with her hands and starts tugging, and I am slipping. I shriek and constantly bang my heel against the floor of the parlor, and Katie's fingers along with it. She yelps, but keeps on pulling.

"Mum! MUM! I'VE FOUND REYNA!" she hollers, true malice shining on her features. This is it, I thought. Even if Ryn is hidden and makes it tonight, I sure won't. As I am dragged out from underneath the table, Ryn screams, and she too has been found. I am lying on the tiles, sticky with ice cream and dust. I shut my eyes, only to be pried open with none other than Katie's nails. Miss Baxter is staring down at me, like a bear that has been waiting for the perfect fish. I gulp, bracing myself for my fate.

And then suddenly, Katie is flung aside like a rag doll, and I am picked up like a child and thrust back on the leather of the parlor seats. Ryn is there too, and we grab each other for dear life. Literally. Miss Baxter hisses at us, this time with a glinting butter knife in her hand. And that is the last straw for me. I have had enough of her everything, from her insulting to her beating and cutting. I break free from Ryn's grasp, screaming as many insults as I can think of at her face. Miss Baxter comes closer with each curse, and she raises the knife high, knowing exactly where to aim. You know how movies always depict the death scenes in slow motion, for added drama? Well, time freezes in real life too. Camryn is screaming, Katie is crying, the manager of the parlor is shouting, but all I can focus on is that silver tip, heading straight for me.

A hand shoots out from nowhere, and I wince and close my eyes, bracing for the excruciating pain. But instead, I hear a clatter and a grunt, and the sound of scuffling. I open my eyes to a sight I never thought I would ever see. Tom is crouched in front of me, and has his hands thrown out on either side of him, protecting Ryn and myself like his life depended on it. I peer over his shoulder and let out a hysteric giggle; Miss Baxter, dear, old, terrifying Miss Baxter, is pinned to the ground by Tom's shoe, her arms of no use. She's flopping around like a dead fish, and her skin is quickly turning a deep scarlet. The knife she had in her hand a mere minute ago lays just out of reach; every time she reaches for it, Tom presses a little harder, causing her to squeal like a stuck sow. Like mother, like daughter.

 

 

But Tom. Tom is not himself. His entire demeanor has changed; where was the man that was kind enough to let us into his home? His lips are tightly pursed, and his nostrils are slightly flaring, not to mention the death glare he is giving to the both of them.

"Now, I am usually a calm man, some say one of the nicest people they've ever met. I-"

"Yeah, I thought you were nice!" Katie pipes up.

Tom turns to look at her, and I do not know what he is doing, but whatever it is, it makes Katie cower in fear and press herself against the back wall.

"AS I was saying," he growls, "I have heard all about you two and what you've done to these poor girls, right down to the fork in Reyna's side. I do not know what caused you to do that, nor all the other terrible ways you have treated them as such when they were living with you. They were nothing more than slaves to you and your family, and I bet sometimes you didn't even treat them like human beings. Both of you make me sick to the bone. You and your entire family." he spits.

"I am giving you an option now, because I do not want to be the bad guy here. I know a lot of people nearby that are part of the local police, and I can ask them to make an arrest if any friends of mine are getting hurt. And you have hurt Reyna and Camryn too much. So either get the **fuck** away from them and never interact with them ever again or I will be filing charges of physical abuse on all of you. And I mean it."

He finishes his speech, and I look back at Ryn. She is in shock and staring at Tom in awe, as am I. Never in our entire lives has anyone ever defended us like that, not even Yvonne. To us, it is more than an act of friendship. It is one of love and sacrifice. We are stunned, and judging by the expressions on Katie and Miss Baxter's faces, they are too.

 

 

Katie is the first one to make any kind of noise. She mimics dry heaving as she scrambles to the door, searching for her little entourage. But they are nowhere to be found, and she pushes the parlor door open, looking like a bloody mess with ice cream and tears and snot and makeup all over her face and sweater. Ryn and I look straight at her and gag, then giggle when she bursts into tears.

"Mum, COME ON! RIGHT NOW!" she wails. "I WANNA GO HOME! I HATE EVERYTHING!"

Tom lifts his foot off Miss Baxter, still glaring. She backs away slowly, then follows Katie out the parlor as Tom lets out a little chuckle. "Wusses," he laughs as he goes over to the counter to reassure the manager and apologize. I stare blankly at the scene before me; our cups lay untouched, the knife Miss Baxter was holding is right in front of me, perfectly adjacent to where Tom was sitting, and a little puddle of barf beside it that I can only assume was Katie's ice cream. We join Tom at the counter and ask for a mop and napkins to clean up the place, but are simply waved away with a smile and reassuring thanks for wanting to help. Tom must have worked his charm on the man. He turns around to face us as the manager heads to the back, and once again, takes each of our hands in his, this time with a much firmer grip.

"Thank you," I manage, hot tears softly running down my face again. I do not even care anymore, and brush them away with my shoulder. I have nothing more to say. "For everything, Tom."

He does not respond, but merely walks with us to the door, wrapping an arm around each of us and holding himself closer. There is something in his eyes; not embarrassment, but pride. Tom pushes the door of the parlor open, and a little bell tinkles over our heads, welcoming us into the glistening London night.

"It's getting late," he says, heading back toward his flat with us. "Let's go home, girls."


	7. A New Life

Camryn's POV

* * *

 

I'm still shaking when we reenter Tom's flat. To keep myself occupied during the walk, I kept count of how many times he had asked if we were alright. He uttered the question a fourth time as he flipped the lights on. I nodded, continuing forward in my desire to get as far into the safety of the house as possible.  
"Reyna."  
I turned around and saw Tom with his hands on my sister's shoulders, peering into her eyes.  
"Are you positive you're alright?"  
She must have told him.  
"Tom, I'm fine. Just a little shaken," I hear Reyna reply as I round the upstairs corner to the guest room. I peel off the sticky clothes and try to sort them properly into the hamper, replacing them with my pajamas from last night.  
Reyna passes me as I descend back down the stairs. I collapse onto the couch and pull my knees up to my chest, and Tom brings me a cup of tea.  
"I daresay you two don't have any desire to go out tomorrow," he sighs.  
"I daresay we're pretty Baxter-proof by now." I shrug. "We can't hide forever."

 

"Reyna told me about her experience at the Baxter's."  
"Awful, isn't it?" I grimace.  
"But what about yours?"  
I pull the waistband of my pants higher up on my hips. "Not as bad as hers. The woman hardly touched me, compared to what she did to Reyna."  
"Come on. She told me that you were the one who formulated the whole runaway plan. There's got to be something."  
I grab the remote off of the coffee table and turn on the television, flipping channels aimlessly. I finally stop on a show called Breaking Pointe and concentrate, trying to piece together the storyline.  
"Do you miss it?" Tom asks.  
"Miss what?"  
"The Royal Ballet Academy."  
"Yeah, I do," I admit. "A lot. It was the only thing I had to hang my hat on, you know? It was the one place I could shine."  
"And you don't think that you shine now?"  
I take a generous sip of tea, weighing my answer choices. I could tell the truth, I could lie, or I could manipulate the truth so it sounds like I don't care. I decide on the latter.  
"No one would, with a firecracker like Reyna as a sister. She's the very definition of shine."  
Tom opens his mouth like he wants to respond, but Reyna comes down the stairs again, rubbing her eyes.  
"What's the happiest movie you've got?" she asks.  
"The Jungle Book," he replies, almost sheepishly.  
Reyna drops down next to me. "Can we watch it?"  
Tom grins so wide it's almost scary, as if we've just told him that Shakespeare has come back from the dead. "Of course," he breathes. "Of course."

 

Tom puts the movie in and goes to pop popcorn. He pulls out some blankets and tosses them to us, allowing us to spread them out and cover up as the film started. Tom hurries to bring out the bowls of buttery heaven and sits in the middle of us, watching us more than he watched the movie. He sings along to all of the songs, making us giggle, and he even recites some of the lines along with the characters. It's obvious he's watched the movie dozens of times.  
After The Jungle Book we're too awake to retire, so we move on to Jurassic Park. I vaguely remember watching the movie with Yvonne, and the nightmares it gave me. However, now that I watch it as a sixteen-year-old as opposed to a five-year-old, it's actually quite enjoyable.  
After Jurassic Park, Reyna and I beg to see something Tom is in, and he decides on a delightful film called Midnight in Paris.  
"Why this?" Reyna asks. "Why not Thor?"  
"Thor would make you cry," Tom chuckles as Owen Wilson's character sits dejected on the steps. In unison, the clocks in the movie and in Tom's flat toll midnight.  
"Why would it make me cry? It's an action movie." Reyna takes a small bite of popcorn.  
"Would you like to ask my fans?"  
Reyna shrugs. "I still want to watch it."  
The movie finishes, and my eyelids feel like lead. I blink slowly, laying my head on Tom's shoulder without realizing it when it becomes an effort to keep my eyes open. I hear him chuckle.  
"Looks like someone's tired." He pulls the blanket over my torso, wrapping his arm around me. "Sleep well, Camryn."  
I fall asleep.

 

When the sunlight leaks through the windows and warms my face, I wake up and discover that we're still on the couch. My head is still on Tom's shoulder, Reyna's is on his chest, and he lays sound asleep between us.The doorbell chimes, and Tom jerks awake. He scratches his chin as he gently lays Reyna aside and bids me good morning, then stands up to answer the door.  
"Whatimeisit?" Reyna asks groggily as she wakes, her hair splayed across her face.  
I shrug. "Dunno. But there's someone at the door."  
"Girls, I'd like you to meet my wonderful publicist and friend, Luke Windsor." Tom enters the room with a slightly shorter and younger-looking man in tow.  
"You must be Camryn and Reyna," Luke extends his hand to us. "Pleased to meet you."  
We murmur our you too's as Luke settles into an armchair. He's obviously been here many times before.  
"I'm going to make the girls some breakfast, and then we can talk," Tom calls from the kitchen.

 

"So, how long have you girls known Tom?" Luke asks.  
"Thirteen weeks," I reply.  
Luke raised his eyebrows. "An accurate count."  
"We have a way of keeping track."  
Luke nods as if interested. "Is he treating you alright?"  
"I don't see how he could treat us any better," I assure.  
"I know Tom, and trust me, he'll find a way," Luke chuckled, drawing a laugh out of Reyna and I.  
"Luke, what are you telling them?" Tom calls from the kitchen.  
"Oh, nothing," Luke calls back. "I'm leaving the good stuff for you."  
"What good stuff?" Reyna asks.  
"Not telling you!" Tom exits the kitchen, teasingly wagging a spoon at us. "Now come on if you want your breakfast hot."

 

We oblige, settling down at the table and wolfing down our pancakes. When we finish, Reyna nods at me and I slide back up to the guest room, carrying out an act we had discussed and debated at length last night.  
I open the closet and seize the duffel bag from the corner, undoing the zipper and digging out the wad of cash. I tiptoe back downstairs and make certain that Luke is gone before I approach Tom and hold out the money.  
"What's this?" He asks as he loads the dishwasher.  
"It's the money that you gave us. We don't really need it now, so Rey and I figured we'd give it back."  
Tom stares at me for a moment, his hands on his hips. "Camryn, that money is for you two. I don't want it back. Go get your sister and get dressed, and we'll go open a bank account and get you two some new clothes and things."  
"A-are you sure?" My hand holding the cash remains extended.  
"I'm positive." Tom's slender hands find my shoulders and squeeze them gently. "Now go on."  
I go back to the living room where Reyna lounges, and she looks at me in confusion when she sees that I still have the money.  
"He won't take it," I explain. "He told us to go get dressed so that he can take us to go get a bank account and go shopping."  
"Is he sure?" Reyna sits up straight.  
"I asked him that. He's sure as hell."  
"Well... Alright then." Reyna hoisted herself off of the leather couch. "I guess we'd better get dressed."

 

We go upstairs to flip through our borrowed wardrobe, agreeing to wear something professional and appropriate for such a monumental outing. I decide on a storm cloud gray pencil skirt that fell just above my knees and a matching blazer over a purple tank top. I pair the outfit with a pair of black kitten heels and go to the bathroom to pull my hair into a bun, a wave of nostalgia washing over me from my days at RBA.  
When I go back downstairs, Reyna is waiting for me. She's dressed in a black pantsuit with matching flats, a bit of tissue poking out from where she stuffed the toes to make the shoes fit.  
Tom emerges from his bedroom dressed in black pants and a waistcoat without a suit jacket, gesturing for us to follow him to where his sleek black Jaguar is parked. We climb into the backseat as he drives off, heading straight for the bank.  
When we enter, the receptionist is different from our first attempt at putting our money somewhere safe. This time it's a young girl, no older than twenty-five, with milky white skin, a shock of red hair, and a smile too big for her face. She flashes it at us as she hands me the registration paper and a pen. I fill it out in a neat hand, and I can't help grinning as I fill in the address.  
Rey and I sign at the bottom, and we stand up to hand it to the receptionist, who's making small talk with Tom. He hands her eleven of the thirteen thousand pounds, then waits for the account information before leading us back to the car.  
"Why did you only give her eleven thousand pounds?" Reyna asks.  
Tom reaches back and hands us each a thousand pounds. "I'm taking you girls shopping. It's time to start your new life."


	8. Bags, Boots, and Blue Eyes

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

Tom once again takes our hands in his soft, larger ones, and I lean into his arm, stowing away the thousand pounds in the pants pocket of Emma's suit. As we climb into the Jaguar once more, I flash Ryn excited looks from the passenger seat, and Tom chuckles.  
"What, have you two never gone shopping before?"  
I shake my head, grinning. "There's a lot of things we haven't done before." I mock.  
Tom pulls up onto a small stretch of stores, but I can't see what they are due to the deeply tinted windows. The car's purr shuts off, and Tom slides a pair of Ray-Bans on as we get out. I'm instantly envious, and crave a pair to shield myself from the sun, which is glaring down on us. I shrug out of the blazer and lay it on the seat before closing the door, leaving me in a teal, sleeveless top and the slacks. We've parked right in front of a store that says "Forever 21", and I gaze longingly at the fashionably dressed mannequins. As soon as Camryn is out of the car, I rush to the glass window, pressing my nose against it and looking at all the wonderful things inside, just like a child would in a candy shop. Ryn approaches from behind and breathes in a huge gasp of air, and I can almost hear her internally squealing. But before we rush into the shop, Tom calls out.  
“Girls, remember to have fun, and don’t hesitate in buying anything. If you need me, I’ll be right next door, alright? I need a few more ties as of late.” he adds with a wink, entering a modern, contemporary shop with ARMANI written out in gold lettering across the top. We nod happily, and enter the first store we’ve been to in years through a glass doorway, reminding me of the hotel doors Ryn and I so often gazed hungrily at, wanting to snatch a peek of the luxury inside.

 

And then we beam as we look around. Our jaws hurt from smiling so wide at this place, and all we can do for a few minutes is stand there and inhale the unfamiliar scent of new clothes, gazing at the enormity and convenience of this place. I spot a huge section of basics to my right, and clutch Ryn’s wrist as I make a beeline, starting off with those. We stock up on enough to last us for two weeks without washing them even once, and I laugh at the thought of it, for our daily trips to the local laundromat were long past. Then it’s Camryn’s turn to take my hand and run; she’s spotted a pair of black combat boots that I’m sure she’s had her eye on ever since we entered the store. We weave in and out of the store, piling our arms up with so many clothes that I have to grab two huge carts for the each of us. As I look at the haul we’ve brought in, I worry for a moment that we’ve gotten too much: the young cashier has to call in a new set of shopping bags to put our clothes in alone. Among the stash I spot my new riding boots, a skater dress that the both of us got in different colors, and a bit of Marvel gear: a tank for Ryn and a t-shirt for me. Feeling very, very content for once, I leave the store with Camryn in tow, both of us smiling Cheshire Cats. Laden down with all the bags, I rummage in my pocket for the pounds Tom gave us, and discover that we've only spent half our money.  
"Should we spend it all, or...?"   
"Lets", Ryn confirms. "He gave us that money for a reason, anyways."

 

There's a store on the other side of Forever 21, and we decide to go investigate. "Urban Outfitters" graces the top of the building this time, and the clothes look like my kind of style: cute, yet edgy. Wind chimes ring as we open the door, and Ryn and I both squeal, surprising the shopkeeper. Right in front of us was a display, and we saw something we hadn't seen ever since Yvonne's house: leotards! Not caring about who saw, we drop our many bags with great gusto and rush over to the rack, slipping the fabric between and fingers and marveling at how foreign it felt, after all this time. We snatch up half the rack and even find pairs of sheer tights to go along with them, dragging pink and black in our wake. After our arms are screaming with the pain of more weight thanks to more bags, we duck into the dressing rooms to change out of Emma's clothes and into what we can now call our own. Ryn knocks on my door, and I open it, revealing her in the same skater dress I'm wearing, except hers is forest green instead of royal blue. She paired it with her combat boots, and her hair's been released from her bun, giving her a fresh, natural look. I'm envious of how well she can pull anything off, unlike me. I look like a mess, with my hair pulled up into an unruly ponytail and stray tendrils escaping around my face. I've worn the dress with the semi-sheer black tights I bought and my tan riding boots, looking like I've stepped out of a barn. A pang of sadness washes over me, and I realize just how much I've missed the riding lessons I took when we were with Yvonne.  
"Rey? You okay?" Ryn softly touches my shoulder, and I jerk out of my nostalgia.  
"Yes, of course", I reassure her. "Let's go find Tom."

 

We head into Armani dragging our bags, and find that the store is basically menswear heaven. Racks and racks of suits, waistcoats, and jackets line the store as far as the eye can see, and there are ties of every style and color hanging under the walls. Intoxicating cologne and linen mesh together, and my nose is bombarded with the scent. Keeping Ryn close behind, we start at the wall nearest to us, since Tom said he'd be looking for ties. Feeling like a little girl for once, I twirl and giggle in between the rows of suits, prentending as if "Daddy" has left us to explore this mysterious world of silks and slacks. For a bit, I forget about looking for Tom; I'm sure Ryn was a better finder than me anyways. Not quite paying attention to where I was going, I spin and spin around, until...  
"Oh, hello there." a deep, melodious voice smirks. I'd twirled straight into a stranger. Just great.  
"O-ohmygosh, I am so, so, sorry." I mutter. "I..."  
As I slowly back away, I find myself furiously blushing. The young man has piercing blue eyes, quite like Tom's, and a mess of dirty blonde curls rest on his head, giving him the look of a golden retriever. A deep blue tie dotted with small patterns is wrapped lazily around his neck, and to my horror, he's blowing smoke rings from a cigarette. Inside the store.  
"You do know-"   
"That smoking isn't allowed inside the store? Of course." he says as he tucks one of my stray hairs back behind my ear. I shiver slightly at his touch. "But then again, where's the fun in always following the rules?"  
I take a few steps back as he now blows the smoke in my face, and the smell of...vanilla? Noticing my involuntary sniffing, he laughs, a soft barking.  
"It's not a real cigarette, silly. They're just vapors." he chides. "Now, enough talk. What's your name, love?"  
The whole "never talk to strangers" lesson that Yvonne once told us? Well, I was debating that in my head at the moment, over and over again. But talking to Tom, who was a stranger to us at our first meeting, has landed us a home, new clothes, and a new life, so I figure it might not be as bad as Yvonne made it seem.  
"Reyna." I say with firm determination.  
"Well hello, Miss Reyna." the man winks. "The name's Oakley. Oakley Haddock." he says as he sticks out his hand. I grasp it for a firm handshake, but instead am surprised that he's pulled me in close to his chest. Not that I minded. He had a very soft physique, yet muscles could be felt through his straining shirt. I smile to myself, getting lost in another unfamiliar heartbeat.  
"Now, I'm sure this won't be our last time seeing each other," he breathes in my ear. "If you ever need anything, or want to have a bit of freedom, just call." he says as he slips a small, folded piece of paper in my curled hand. His velvety breath washes over me, and shivers are sent down my spine like little feathers. I blush even more as he backs away, and looks at me once more.  
"Beautiful." he smiles.   
"Rain? Where are you?" Camryn calls. Hurriedly tucking away the slip of paper with Oakley's number into my boot, I walk over to where her voice came from, wanting to say goodbye to Oakley properly. But as I glance over my shoulder, he's vanished into thin air.

 

"Where were you all this time?" Ryn inquires, appearing right in front of me.  
"Um...well, I...I was..." I mumble, not wanting to give anything away about my meeting with Oakley.  
"Never mind that. I've found Tom, Rey." Ryn leads me over to him. Tom is clutching a small bag too, which he looks very pleased with.   
"Are you girls done with your shopping?" he teases, looking at the multiple bags we each carry.  
"Even if we weren't, we wouldn't know where to carry any more bags on us." I laugh.   
As Tom bids adieu to the store owner, we head out and back into the Jaguar. Stuffing the bags on either sides of the spacious trunk, I dazedly climb in, Oakley's eyes still on my mind. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass again, I try to escape the flush on my face, to no avail. My hands find my boot, and Oakley's number, rubbing my fingers over the paper, lost in my own thoughts. As we drive away, I close my eyes, Oakley flitting in and out of my daydreams. I sense a wary feeling that everything is going to change once again, and this time, I feel a bit excited. A bit daring. Maybe this guy will be for the best of me, and if everything works out perfectly, I can only dream of the good things to come. Smiling in my stupor, I relax and let the ghost scent of Oakley's vanilla drift over me, lulling me to a soft world of swirling smoke and those blazing blue eyes.


	9. Pestering and Exploring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter guys, sorry! :c

Camryn's POV

* * *

 

After we return to Tom's flat, Reyna and I immediately hurry upstairs to hang and marvel over our new wardrobe. We change out of our borrowed outfits and into pajama shorts with matching polka dotted prints (mine pink and white, Rey's blue and white) and tank tops, not wanting to risk staining and/or ruining our new clothes.

When we hurry back down the stairs, an action that has practically become second nature to us now, Tom is hunting around for his car keys avidly, swearing under his breath.

"Are you going somewhere?" I ask.

"Yes, I-I... Dammit." Tom flinches as he steps on the key ring and stoops down to collect it.

"You what?" I ask in a way that could have been interpreted as rude, but I couldn't help it. It was unbearable for me when people didn't finish their sentences.

"I forgot about an errand I need to run. I should be gone for a couple hours- I left a few takeout menus and phone numbers out for you guys to get dinner. I just need to get one more thing from upstairs, and I'll be off." Tom rushes upstairs and back down a few moments later, kisses both of our heads, then strides out the door on his spidery legs, the echo of his presence resonating around the room.

 

"So." Reyna claps her hands. "What should we do while he's gone?"  
"I don't know." I shrug. "Watch a movie, maybe?"  
"Ooh, yes!" Reyna squeals. "Let's watch something of his!"  
I kneel down in front of the television cabinet and scan the titles of the neatly stacked films. "I don't see anything."  
"Maybe he keeps them somewhere else. Let's go look."  
I sit up from where I was crouched. "You serious?"  
"Yeah. Why not?"  
"I don't know. I mean, we don't want to trespass on his private life."  
"He doesn't seem like one who has much to hide." Rey grabs my wrist and pulls me up the stairs. "Let's go."  
I look right and left, slightly enjoying the game.  
"Maybe he keeps them in his bedroom?" I suggest.  
"I bet he does." Reyna strides down the hallway and puts her hand on the door. "After you."  
"You seem happy today," I comment, starting a conversation I had been planning since we left Armani.  
Reyna blinks, turning to me after flipping the light switch. "Yeah, so?"  
"Why's that?" I glance around the room. It's exactly what I would have expected of Tom: spotless white walls with black picture frames, deep red, almost burgundy bedding, a mahogany ceiling-to-floor bookshelf, nightstand, and chest of drawers, an adjoining master bathroom and walk-in-closet, and a giant flat-screen television mounted on the wall.  
"What do you mean? Do I need a reason to be happy?" Reyna begins her search at the bookshelf.  
"C'mon, Rey. Don't play dumb."  
"Camryn, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."  
"I saw you with a boy at Armani," I report matter-of-factly.  
Even though I can only see half of her face, I notice Reyna pale as she stretches on her toes to glance at the top shelf. She forced a laugh.  
"No you didn't, Ryn. You were on the complete other side of the store. There's no way you could have seen me."  
I flash her an "Are you freaking serious?" look. "Reyna. Come on. You know I did."  
"Found it!" Reyna calls, holding up a movie and pointedly changing the subject. "Since he's obviously not going to watch it with us anytime soon, let's watch it ourselves."  
I step over and glance at the title. "So we'll finally watch the legendary Thor."  
Reyna squeals. "Put it in."  
I slide the disc into the DVD player and Rey and I sit on Tom's perfectly made bed to watch it, me silently promising to not let the subject of the boy I saw my sister with go.

 

I wipe my eyes as the credits roll. "Tom wasn't kidding. I cried a river."  
"Me, too." Reyna sniffs. "That was beautiful."  
"I know what else you think is beautiful." I wiggle my eyebrows at her.  
"Don't you even-"  
"That booooooy," I sing.  
Reyna shoves me off the bed and rushes out of the room, and I giggle.  
"Where are you going?"  
"I'm going exploring!" Reyna calls.  
"Wait for me!" I call, scurrying up and following her to where she's pushing open the door of a second guest room, nearly identical to the one we were staying in.  
"You can only tag along if you promise not to pester me about Oakley." Reyna gasps and slaps her hand over her mouth.  
"Ooh." I grin. "So that's his name. Oakley."  
"No it isn't. He doesn't exist." Reyna closes the door and darts down the hallway.  
"Nice try, Rey, but it's too late for that. Your secret is out."  
"It's not even worthy of a secret! I scolded him about smoking in the store and then somehow I ended up getting his phone number, which is useless since we don't even have-"  
She's cut off by a distant ringing.  
"What's that?" Reyna glances around, squinting at the landline on the side table in the dark hallway.  
"I think it's coming from our room." I lead the way, and on the dresser sits two, brand new white iPhones, one lighting up from a call. Without checking the ID, I answer the call and put the phone on speaker.  
"Hello, ladies." Tom's voice rings throughout the room, cracking as it is transmitted. "Are you enjoying your new gift?"  
"We just discovered them," I reported.  
"Ehehe. Sorry. I should have told you, but it slipped my mind."  
"It's okay. They're lovely."  
"And what about you, Reyna?"  
Reyna suddenly can't contain herself. She jumps up and down, squealing, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"  
I blink and put my finger in my now-ringing ear, watching as Reyna snatches the second phone from the dresser and dashing off to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.


	10. A Very Hiddles Halloween

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

I skip down the stairs two at a time, cheeks slightly flushed from both the exertion and texting Oakley. Tom seems to be back, as I can clearly see him and Camryn chatting animatedly on the couch again. As I near them, they seem to pay no attention, so I clear my throat. Tom jumps up and apologizes immediately, but my eyes are on Ryn: I plead with her to keep Oakley a secret, and as she smirks and gives a slight nod, I breathe a sigh of relief. As I pull away from Tom, I decide to ask him something that Oakley brought up earlier.

"Tom, what do you do for Halloween?"

"Halloween? Oh, nothing really," he says with a wistful look in his eyes. "I usually put on a scary movie, but that's about it. Why?"

I think Ryn's realized what I'm getting to, and her eyes light up. We had never celebrated Halloween before, not even with Yvonne. She didn't like us being out so late, and being so young.

"Can...can we celebrate Halloween this year? Please? Nothing big; I'd like to go trick-or-treating, if that's alright." I finish with bated breath.

Tom's grin stretches from ear to ear, just like when we watched Jungle Book with him. He takes both of us into a tight hug, squishing our cheeks against his stubble.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he whispers into my ear with a chuckle. I jump up and down in glee, and Ryn and I both shriek a huge "Thank you so much!" to Tom as the three of us smile maniacally.

"So," I clap my hands together as I look at the nearby calendar hanging above the mantle. We had two days to get everything ready. "Where do we begin?"

 

The next few days were a blur of costumes, decorations, and candy, but Friday finally crawled around, and with it, our excitement rose. I sat in front of the gilded mirror perched on top of our dresser as I applied the lightest of makeup on, really only dramatizing my eyes and bringing out the flecks of gold in them. Ryn was getting ready in the bathroom, and I could see her applying ruby lipstick in the mirror's reflection. She was already dressed in her costume, save the gloves and shoes, while I still had my pajamas on. As I dipped two fingers into the small jar of crimson finger paint and ran them across both cheeks, I hurried to the sink to wash my hands, rustling Ryn's golden skirts as I flew by. Quickly stripping and throwing my clothes onto the bed, I get into my costume, the small beads at the bottom tinkling together. The dress lands at the knee, so I pull on a pair of tan tights to hide the cut marks on my legs. I pluck a rose out of the vase on the nightstand and place it in Ryn's outstretched glove.

"A rose for a Beauty," I murmur, curtsying to her.

"And a feather for a warrior," Camryn finishes, tucking a silver one behind my ear into my brown headband and strapping a glinting silver dagger to my thigh. She curtsies back. We giggle, and join hands coming down the stairs, where Tom eagerly awaits, looking as dapper as ever in a three-piece suit complete with waistcoat, pocketwatch, and gloves.

"My princesses," he bows, graciously extending his hands. We put one of ours in each of his, and Tom kisses them, just as he did at our first encounter. We giggle even more, cheeks slightly pinker than before. Ryn slides into the golden heels laid out before her, and Tom puts on his ebony dress shoes, glinting slightly in the light. I go barefoot, and muss up my locks a bit, adding to the free-spirited element of my costume.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Tom exclaims as he takes his shoes off and darts into the nearby coat closet, emerging a minute later with two buckets in each of his hands. He gives one to each of us and we put it in our free hand, entwining the other in Tom's. He takes a key from his breastpocket and locks the door behind us as a Pocahontas, a Belle, and their prince head out into the London evening, already filled with the peals of young children.

 

It was soon getting dark, and our buckets were quite full with all sorts of candies. We still had a few houses left to go to, though, and so the three of us continued down the sidewalk until we reached our last house, which was almost as fancy-looking as Tom's, at least on the outside. Loud music could be heard playing, and laughter echoed throughout the yard. I rang the doorbell and stepped back, wincing as I realized the soreness of my feet. "Trick or-" I stop abruptly, for what could only be described as heavenly stood in front of me, holding the door in one hand and a beer bottle in the other.

"Princess Reyna," Oakley breathes. "So we meet again."

I can do nothing but gawk at him, for Oakley is wearing only a turquoise toga and golden laurels are perched crookedly on his head. I swallow hard, praying that Tom hasn't noticed the heat radiating off my cheeks in waves. Ryn, however, has, to no avail. She wraps her free arm around Tom's broad back, passing it off as a mere gesture, but I can feel her fingers tapping repeatedly at my shoulder blade, urging me to go on. She pokes her head out from under Tom's arm and sneaks me a devilish look, to which I give her a death glare. Yet she keeps going, so I ignore her.

"He-hello," I reply, trying to sound as normal as possible while holding out my bucket. "Got any candy?"

"For you? But of course, my dear," Oakley laughs as he retreats into the house, but not before giving me a wink. Oh lord, let this be over already. My cheeks were flaming and it took all my strength not to look at Tom.

"And who is this gorgeous beauty?" Oakley asks as he dumps lollipops and chocolate into both of our buckets, filling them to the brim.

"Um, this is-"

"I'm Camryn," she says with a huge smirk as she curtsies to him. Why didn't I think of that? "Reyna's sister."

"Pleasure to meet you, dear. I do hope you don't hate me too much already." Oakley chuckles. Someone calls his name from inside the house, and Tom simultaneously clears his throat. I stare at my dirtied feet, not wanting to meet Oakley's nor Tom's gaze.

"Happy Halloween, you two." Oakley grins as he shuts the door on us. It was time to go home.

"Reyna, who was that?" Tom asks, a bit sternly.

"Uh, I don't know," I say as I stare ahead into space, feigning surprise. "He seems like a college student."

"He said your name. How'd he get to know that?""

"Maybe he just overheard it as he was opening the door," I mutter firmly, and Tom says no more.

"Soooo...this candy looks great!" Ryn says, a little too enthusiastically. I shoot her another one of my glares, and she shuts up, too. We walk in awkward silence the rest of the way back, my heart pounding.

 

We arrive back at Tom's flat, and the first thing I do is wash my soiled feet in the nearby bathroom before grabbing my bucket off the floor and joining Camryn amd Tom in the living room. Ryn has already dumped out her entire candy stash in the middle of the oriental rug and is sorting it into two piles, which I can only assume one is for eating now and one for saving later. Her dress poofs out in little yellow waves that ripple every time she moves, and right then and there, I decide that if one of us were to ever be true royalty, it would be her. But then I see the stick of a cherry lollipop poking out from her mouth, and I can't help but laugh. So much for looking regal. I plop down next to her and pour my candy out too, and begin to sort them into categories and subcategories, to keep them more organized. I shoot a glance at Tom and find him staring intently at Ryn dividing her candy, which is a relief. I don't want to make eye contact with him at the moment. Focusing instead on the Kit-Kats I was sorting now by size, I pop a mini one into my mouth, savoring the way the chocolate melted.

"Reyna? Could you come here, please?" Tom asks, patting the empty couch next to him. Damn. Ryn looks up at me, a gleam in her eyes, and suddenly loses all interest in her candy. I draw a line across my throat as I look at her straight in the eye, and this time she shrugs her shoulders. With a sigh, I throw away the wrappers of her already eaten candies as slowly as possible, then sit down next to Tom, heart racing.

Tom turns to me, softness in his eyes, but firm determination and curiosity in his voice.

"That boy, Reyna. At the last house. Who is he, and how do you know him so well?"

I feel like a mouse that's been cornered by a cat, and since there is no way out, the only hope I have is to tell the truth (or manipulate it a bit) to be free. With a long exhale, I blow my bangs out of my eyes and begin.

"His name's Oakley, Tom. I met him when we were at Armani because I literally bumped into him. He gave me his phone number, and we've been texting ever since then. That's it." I finish, deliberately leaving out the part of him smoking in the store. I dare to glance at Tom, and to my absolute surprise, he's chuckling.

"Ehehehe. What a curious way of getting acquaintanced. Oakley's actually the son of one of the deans at Cambridge, who just so happens to be a very good friend of mine. They're a very lovely family, all of them, and Oakley isn't too bad himself." Tom adds with a wink. I shove Tom playfully, and he laughs.

"TOM!" I exclaim, cheeks flaming.

"What? All I'm saying is be safe."

"I'm going off to bed." I mutter, obviously embarrassed by Tom's behavior.

"Sweet dreams of Oaaaakley." Tom sings, and Ryn chimes in this time too. I chuck a piece of candy at them, and Tom catches his with deft hands, while Ryn's just bounces off her shoulder. "Oww", she pouts, rubbing her collarbone, and I giggle, sticking my tongue out at her. Jumping the steps two at a time, I head into the guest bathroom to wash off my makeup, keeping the feather on the nightstand and changing back into my pajamas. Suddenly exhausted of the night's actions, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the soft pillow, the taste of chocolate still lingering in my mouth.


	11. Nostalgia

Camryn's POV

* * *

 

The sun shines through the window, but it does not wake me up, for I never fell asleep. After I had taken my Halloween costume off, I settled into bed and had an instant flashback:  
"Not for too long, right? You know I hate the whole guilt trip system."  
"Not for too long," Reyna echoes. "Of course."  
It had been too long. We had gotten attached. We had become freeloaders. Tom had done too much for us. I couldn't stand it, and we needed to leave. Soon.  
"Reyna." I nudged her. "Wake up. I need to talk to you."  
"What is it?" she groans, rubbing her eyes.  
"Remember our promise?" I whisper.  
"What promise?"  
"When we first came here. 'Not for too long'?"  
"Yeah, so?"  
"It's been too long."  
"Not...necessarily. If you think about it, we haven't been here THAT long."  
"Yes, but that's not necessarily what I mean. I mean all that he's done for us. Those thirteen thousand pounds were enough, but now we're practically his children. He bought our Halloween costumes and took us shopping and is involved with your love life..." I took a deep breath, realizing that I was crying. "And with that bank account, I feel way too tied down. We...we need to leave."  
"I don't feel that way." Reyna slides her arm around my shoulder.  
"Yeah, well I do. We're putting way too much on Tom and he's getting nothing in return."  
"Don't you see?" Reyna giggles a bit. "WE'RE what he gets in return. He's always wanted kids, and he enjoys taking care of us. I know these feelings won't go away easily, but don't plan on leaving. Stay, observe Tom. You'll see."  
I sniffled. "Okay. I guess I'll try."  
"Good." Rey rubs my back. "Did you sleep last night?"  
"No," I admit.  
"Well, you probably should. Are you tired now that this is resolved?"  
"Yeah, I- how did you know that this is what was keeping me up?"  
"I'm your sister. I know you."  
I laughed. "Well, if you do, you should know that I want you to shut up so I can sleep."  
"Can do."

 

Even though the problem had been resolved, I still dream a flashback. It's from about two years ago, when Reyna and I were still with Baxter. Rey and I had gotten into a fight over her taking all of the punishments and how I just stood there. Once she had gone to sleep, I grabbed one of the plate shards I kept in my pocket and began to punish myself until the blood threatened to stain the floor.  
Once I put the shard away, I silently crept into the hallway and down the staircase, prepared to go to the kitchen and grab the bottle of sleeping pills in the cabinet over the oven, ready to down them all and end it.  
When I had nearly reached the room, I noticed a light on and slunk into the shadows. When I went further, I noticed Miss Baxter sitting at the kitchen island, a book opened in front of her. I started to shrink away, but she had already seen me.  
"I'm sorry, Miss Baxter," I stated quietly, my eyes on the ground. "I was just coming down to get a glass of water. I'll go back up to my room."  
Miss Baxter looked me over, her gaze pausing at my bare and bloodied legs.  
"No, Camryn," she said, not unkindly. "I think you should come sit with me."  
"Um...alright." I stepped off of the staircase and approached her, hesitantly sliding into the stool next to hers.  
"I know you're not down here to get a glass of water," Baxter began.  
"W-what do you mean?" I asked carefully.  
"I didn't give you those cuts on your legs. I'm not stupid." Baxter wrapped her hand around the bottle in front of her, tapping it on the table. "You were coming down here to get these pills."  
I feel my eyes widen.  
"No, I didn't know you were going to be after these. They're prescription. I'm required to take one a night."  
"Oh," was all I could manage.  
"I would be very upset if you died, but it would be a much better situation than what you have now. Much happier."  
"Miss Baxter?" I ask shakily. "Since when have you...cared about me?"  
She laughed as if I was the cutest child in the world. "I've always cared about you, sweetie."  
Slightly scared, I scoot my stool back a bit.  
"I couldn't show it, of course. But I took a liking to you the moment you were brought here. You're smart, and you know what you want and how to survive in the world. You're quiet, and you keep your head down. I can tell how angry you get and how you would like to lose your temper with me. But you know the consequences of it and you protect yourself. Unlike your sister, of course. So hotheaded. She acts before she considers all of the consequences. If she acted more like you, you two would have a much better life. But I have to punish her. I'm trying to teach her a lesson she'll never learn." Baxter sighs. "Frankly, if I didn't have all of these other children staying with me, I'd adopt you and you'd be like my own daughter. However, I'm not the most..."  
"Most...what?" I ask.  
Baxter slaps me hard across the cheek, causing me to topple off of the chair. "Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking!"  
She composes herself, then holds her hand out to help me up. "I'm not the most motherly figure, which was displayed right there. But," she slides the pills over to me. "That's never going to change. So, if you really want to, take them. Go ahead. You deserve something better. Hopefully your mother will be up there and you'll have a proper guardian."  
"My mother isn't dead. She didn't want me or my sister."  
"Well, that's unfortunate. You would have been a good daughter. Much better than Katie."  
I've got the cap unscrewed and I'm ready to down the bottle when Katie shrieks from the staircase.  
"Mum! How could you?" She rushes up to me and slaps me in a failed attempt to cause pain. I didn't have the same self control with Katie that I had with Baxter, and I knew that I was much stronger than I looked and she was weak for someone as pudgy as her, and in one movement I had her pinned beneath me on the tile, her glasses crunched under my bare foot.  
"Mum, do you see what she's doing to me? Make her stop! Hit her!" Katie sobs. I roll my eyes.  
"No, Katie. Camryn, you hit her. She deserves it." Baxter stands up and floats off to her room, and in one swift punch, I had Katie unconscious.

 

That afternoon, Reyna rushes out of the flat for a date with Oakley and Tom leaves for a meeting regarding a new project, leaving me alone. Unknown to them, I had a project myself, and I planned to finish it today.  
I throw on my new silver pea coat and grab my newly purchased purse, stepping out of the flat into the frigid air. My destination was luckily in walking distance from Tom's flat, so I headed straight there, not once pausing to look for directions.  
When I stood in front of the looming Royal Ballet Academy, I hesitated, turning around slightly. It took me a moment to remember why I was here, and when I did, I boldly stepped forward and opened the door.  
The moment I step over the threshold, hundreds of memories come flooding back to me. My vision shrouded by a veil of nostalgia, I make my way up the steps leading to the main studios and the director's office.  
I'm greeted with the sound of two piano melodies muddling together and two instructors giving careful corrections. Since it was just then afternoon, I knew that it was possible for only two classes to be in session: the creative movement class, as well as the level seven class, where Rey and I would be if we had been able to continue.  
Still in my dreamland, I peer into one of the observation windows and take in the sight of a hoard of girls in bright red leotards and one little boy no older than six, dreaming of being ballerinas. A few participate in the given exercise, carefully following the instructor's demonstration, while most stand to the side, attempting pirouettes and jumps much too advanced for their level, often falling over or toppling into one another.  
I smile as I remember those days, an easier time. Rey and I were model students in the classroom, but the moment we came home we would sloppily dance our version of Swan Lake in the kitchen, bumping into Yvonne as she warmed up dinner.

 

Giggling as a girl turned to the window and enthusiastically waved to me, I waved back and moved to the second observation window, taking in what I could've been.  
They're currently taking pas de deux, women dressed in sleek black leotards and stiff white tutus, the men in their typical black tights and white shirts. I spot most of my old friends acting out their unchanged personalities. Red-headed Katherine giggles as Harry whispers something in her ear as they complete a promenade, Xenia stumbles as she attempts a piqué, causing Jarod to have to lunge forward to catch her, and Cassidy performs perfect pirouettes, supported by a boy I've never seen before.  
I peer in the window for one more moment before peeling my eyes away and turning towards the office. I hesitate before knocking on the door, inhaling deeply. When the director of the Academy, Naomi, calls for me to enter, I slowly place my hand on the cold knob and turn, entering the cluttered room.  
Naomi wasn't necessarily the typical ballet school director. When Rey and I first started at toddlers, we had gotten our fill of those with only one. Mistress Klepikow WAS a typical ballet school director, with snowy white hair, cold, beady eyes, and a thick Russian accent. When she retired when Rey and I were eight, Naomi Wilson took over, a twenty-five year old who had just retired from the company due to a hip injury. Slightly scatterbrained and unfailingly kind, she was just what the students needed.  
Today she was typical Naomi, jet black hair pulled into a messy bun with strands threatening to fall into her mouth, stylish glasses perched on top of her head, bent over a computer.  
"I'll be with you in just a second..." She mutters. "I'm just finishing up this-Camryn!"  
Suddenly I'm engulfed in a hug and a cloud of lavender perfume.  
"Oh my gosh, are you okay? The last time I saw you and Reyna was when you told me that you were being put into foster care. Are you staying somewhere?"

 

"Um, hi!" I say breathlessly, patting her back. "And yeah, Rey and I have found...a good place to stay for now."  
"Well, I'm glad." Naomi pulls away and takes me by the shoulders, holding me at arm's length. "Let me look at you. Ooh, you've gotten so mature and beautiful!"  
"Thanks," I chuckle.  
"Where's Reyna?"  
"She...couldn't come today. She's busy. She, uh, actually doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to make sure before I told her."  
"Make sure of what?"  
"I was going to ask if we could come back to lessons, come January. It's alright if we can't, I understand. The RBA is audition admittance only, and that it may be too expensive-"  
"No, of course you can come back! I'll even reestablish your scholarships! I've been begging for this opportunity for forever. The Academy needs you two."  
"A-are you sure?" I hadn't expected it to be so easy.  
"Yes, of course! Come on, I'm sure everyone will want to see you."  
Suddenly Naomi's bony hand is clasped around my wrist and I'm being dragged towards the studio where level seven was taking class.   
"Guys, look who came back!" she squeals.  
I'm submerged into a sea of hugs, all of my old companions rushing forward to see me. When they've pulled away, I spot the boy who was partnering Cassidy before standing by the barres, clearly unsure what to do. He's not bad looking by any means, with a mop of curls and shining blue eyes. If I looked at him at the right angle, he resembled Oakley a bit.  
He notices me staring and flashes a shy grin, and I return it before focusing my attention back on the past meeting the present.  
"Oh, I've missed you!" Cassidy whines. "You have to dance for us!"

 

"I'm really not sure I should," I admit. "I'm out of practice, and what would I even dance?"  
"If you're anything like you used to be you could never be out of practice, and you'd do your Black Swan variation, of course," Cassidy insists.  
"I haven't done that one in forever!" I protest. "I don't even know it anymore!"  
"You could do that in your sleep," Xenia reminds.  
"But what would I wear?"  
"We have your tutu from when you danced it at the Grand Prix and set the record for being the youngest winner, and we sell the dress code tights here, remember?" Naomi informs.  
I cringe inwardly as I remember why I won the Prix so young. Just the week before Yvonne had told us that we were being put into foster care, and there was a threat of it being my last performance. I had simply made it count.  
"I don't have any shoes, though!" I protest further, distracting myself from the memory.  
Katherine walks up to me and points to my bag. "Your ribbon is poking out."  
Crap. I had forgotten that I had transferred my old pointe shoes into my new purse.  
"I guess I'm trapped, then," I sigh.  
"You are." Naomi pushes me towards the door. "Now go get changed."  
Sighing, I head back to the dressing rooms. When I get there, I discovered the black tutu with golden beading hanging in a glass case. Gasping a bit, I inched forward to open it, running my finger down the slightly corseted bodice.  
As I pulled it out and held it up to my chest, I realized that I had been thirteen the last time I had worn it. Even if I had suffered years of malnourishment, I doubted it would still fit. Nevertheless, I went behind the curtain to change, and discovered that it fit like a glove.  
Typical.  
I tied my nearly dead shoes on and clomped back into the studio, stubbornly taking my first position, rolling my eyes.  
"Alright, everyone, back up." Naomi pushed everyone against the barres and motioned for the pianist to begin playing.

 

The moment the music starts and I begin to dance, I savor how wonderful it feels to dance on a smooth, large floor, the right music playing, and an audience who actually appreciated what I did. I lose myself in the music and the dance, to the point where I don't even see myself in the mirror, checking for mistakes and imperfections. It's just me.  
When I finish, my old friends applaud, the curly-haired boy clapping the loudest. I grin sheepishly, pushing a strand of hair back and rubbing my sweaty cheeks.  
"That was even more wonderful than when you did it at the Prix." Naomi hugged me once again. "I'm looking forward to having you and Rey back."  
I exit the studio and leave them to their class, changing back into my street clothes. I approach the office, pushing through the door and placing the tutu on Naomi's desk.  
"What are you giving that to me for?" She inquires.  
"It's yours. You probably want it back."  
"No, it's yours." She pushes it back to me. "Take it."  
"Well, thank you." I swing it over my arm. "For everything. I'll see you come January."  
"Wait." Naomi stops me just before I leave. "Would you and Rey like a little opportunity to be reintroduced to the stage?"  
"Sure, we would love it."  
"Well, there's a few Nutcracker parts up for grabs, and I think you two will be perfect."  
"Nut roles? Oh, no. I don't think so. They're too big, and we'll never be able to master the routines before the premiere."  
"But I need you! A couple party parents dropped out and we're having trouble finding replacements. It's a simple dance, mainly acting, you should learn it in no time."  
I sigh. "I really don't know. I'll have to think about it."  
"Well, that's fine. If you decide that you want to, here's the rehearsal schedule. I hope to see you there."


	12. Wishing

Reyna's POV

* * *

 

Winter was soon approaching; I could feel it in the crisp London air, the way my breath fogged up in little clouds while walking with Oakley. I pulled the soft throw tighter around Ryn and I, shivering on top of the chilly couch. She turned her attention back to the ballet show she was watching, and I took a sip of the piping hot Earl Grey Tom made me before retreating off into his studio. Just as I put the cup back onto its coaster, my phone vibrates, and I quickly check it. Oakley, of course.  
"hey wanna come over for a sleepover? bring camryn too if she wants ;)" it read. I nudge Ryn.  
"You wanna come with me to Oakley's house for the night? He says he'd like you to come too, if you want." She shrugs.   
"Why not. It's a slow night anyways, and I'd like to size your boyfriend up a bit more," she winks, pushing me off the couch. The blanket stays where it is, and I tumble to the cold floor, phone skidding across the room.  
"Jeez Camryn, one day I swear I will push you into a freezing tub of water and see how you feel." I reply, sticking my tongue out. "Let me go check with Tom first, before we start packing."  
I head off in the direction of the studio and can hear soft piano music playing. Cracking the door open, I see Tom sitting there at the piano, playing some ethereal tune I can't begin to comprehend. He finishes with a flourish, leaving the last note hanging in the air, and I walk up behind him, clapping softly.  
"I didn't know you played piano, too." I murmur. He laughs and takes a small bow, pleased with his little audience. My phone vibrates again, and I remember why I came here in the first place.   
"Tom, can I spend the night at Oak's? My phone will be with me at all times, and I'm taking Ryn with me."  
"Mmhm. I was planning on going out for dinner with a few old friends, and that's fine. Just pack warmly, and don't do anything rash," he adds mischeviously.  
"One day, Tom, one day," I mutter, "I will find a way to get you for this."

 

This time it's Ryn who reads Oakley's message, and throws my phone back to me as she stuffs her things in a duffel for the night.  
"Why the hell does your boyfriend want us to bring swimsuits?" she inquires, tossing her cheetah print bikini into the bag anyways.  
"He has a name, you know." I scoff. "And maybe he has a pool or something," I reply, carefully folding two of my own one pieces into my matching bag and zipping it up. "You ready to go?"   
"Yeah, hold on..." Ryn dashes into the bathroom and comes out a moment later, stuffing something I couldn't see from here into her purse. "Okay, I'm good." We head downstairs, grabbing our coats and boots, and are just about to head out when Tom rushes out too, looking simply dapper in a simple suit and slacks, fixing his tie.  
"Here, let me drop you two off. I'm about to leave, anyways." he says a bit breathlessly.  
"What, you weren't going to make us walk in this weather, were you?" I tease, reaching up to fix his crooked tie. He looks simply astonished at the thought, and we pile into the Jaguar. I turn on the heater all the way and warm air engulfs us, almost making me sleepy. But before I have time to close my eyes, we're at Oakley's house, and I can see him waiting inside. A grin breaks on my face, and I kiss Tom on the cheek before stepping out of the car, racing my sister to the door.

 

"Welcome to my humble abode," Oakley narrates, gesturing around with a small smirk. "Would you like the full tour?"  
"No," I retort in a matched tone. "I'd like to know where we'll be sleeping, so I can dump this stuff somewhere." He grins, and shows us to the living room, where a huge air mattress is sandwiched between two couches, almost exactly like Tom's but white. I notice another boy perched on one of them, and I offer a shy wave as I drop my bag and unbutton my coat, which he returns.  
"Oh, there you are." Oakley exclaims. "Girls, meet Bill. He's...a brother of sorts. Bill, this is my girlfriend Reyna, and her sister, Camryn."  
We exchange our hellos, but I notice that when Oak says Ryn's name, Bill's face lights up. Had my sister been seeing him while I was out with Oakley? Did Tom know? Or were they just friends? I push the thought out of my mind as Ryn moves to talk to him, and they strike up a conversation about ballet. Ah. That's what it was. I face Oak again, and he cups my face in his hands, only to be rewarded with a huge yawn.   
"Someone's sleepy." he laughs.   
"But we just got here," I whine.   
"Exactly. I know something that'll wake you up. Go change into your bathing suit. We're going swimming."

 

Oh, yeah. The water wouldn't just wake me up, it would probably turn me into one of those Frost Giants from Thor. Nevertheless, I grab mine and head into the nearby bathroom, adjusting the halter. It was a nice swimsuit, silver with blue etchings swirling around the neck and sides, and more modest than I'd like. But it did its purpose of covering most of the bruises from the Baxters. Oakley didn't need to know about them. Not yet. I open the door and am immediately blindfolded, causing me to scream.  
"Calm down, love. It's just me." Oakley whispers into my ear. He steers me, and I tentatively take small steps, afraid of making a fool of myself. "You guys coming?" he hollers to Bill and Ryn, but I hear a soft scuffling and a thud.   
"Not until we get this pas de deux fixed up." Bill says, and even though I can't see them, I can feel the heat radiating off Ryn's cheeks, already trusting a boy that much to partner with her. She was definitely seeing him in secret. No matter. I walked on ahead until my feet reached cold tile, and I could feel Oakley's arm reach up above me and open the door to the backyard, a crisp breeze raising goosebumps on every exposed inch of my body. Grass tickled my feet, and I curled my toes in it, marveling at how soft it felt until I reached the sound of soft lapping of water, and a bubbling.   
"The water's heated," Oak reassures, untying my blindfold. "Go on ahead," he says with a cackle, pushing me into the pool headfirst. I gasp and splutter, the water encasing me like an ice cube. I return to the surface with as much calmness as I could muster, and try my best to swim up to Oak seductively, beckoning him in. He stares at me for a second, and that's all I need; I tug his shoulder and jump on him, screaming "Give me a piggyback ride!" He resurfaces, shirt still on, sopping wet and shivering.   
"Oh, you..." he growls, lunging for me, but I am too quick for him; I dive under and grab a hold of his ankles, and balance gone, he tumbles into the pool again. In my laughter, I take no notice to him swimming up behind me, and he dunks me under the water, holding my ankles, until I resurface in his arms, splashing him as much as possible, and we both laugh until our lungs scream.   
"Oakley Haddock, just what in the world do you think you're doing?" a voice bellows from above, who I can only assume is Mr. Haddock.  
"Having fun, unlike you!" he angrily replies.  
"Well, you better keep it down before I call the police again." Mr. Haddock mutters, slamming the window down. I slide out of Oakley's arms and take his hand, leading him to the hot tub. "Come on, Oak. I'm freezing anyways."

 

The hot tub immediately vanishes any trace of tension that was there before; the water begins kneading its way into my muscles, and I sink under. When I resurface, Oakley has his shirt off, and I nestle under his arm, tracing little patterns into the water.   
"Yeah, I come here a lot when I need to let off a little steam, if you'll pardon the expression." he chuckles, noticing my obvious contentment. "My dad's an absolute asshole."  
"You really don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I say, gazing up at the night sky.  
"No, trust me. It feels good to let it all out, and I think you should know." he replies, turning me so we face each other.  
"Alright, spill it then."  
"Wait. First, hold up your arm out of the water." he urges, and I am fearful. What about my bruises? But I do so anyways, and he places his arm next to mine. Shocked, tears start falling from my eyes, and I swipe at them. "Look. We match." he says, with a sad whisper.  
"Oh, Oak..." I rush at him, and his arms envelop me. "There are more, aren't there?" I don't have to look at him to know his response, and utter fury bubbles inside me at the man upstairs. "Why?"  
He spills everything, how after his mom died giving birth to him, Mr. Haddock developed a grudge and took it out on his only child. He came home drunk at times despite his poised appearance as dean, and would find some "crime" Oak had committed, using it as an outlet for his anger. I can't bear to look at Oakley when he's done telling his story; instead, I look at the sky again.  
"Look, love. A shooting star." I point to the heavens above, following its tail as it streaks across the midnight sky. He laughs at that, and kisses my neck.  
"You know, there's a little rhyme I learned about shooting stars when I was vacationing in Italy. Legend says that when you recite it right after seeing a shooting star, any wish you wish will come true. Want to hear it?"  
"But of course."  
"Okay, so it goes, 'Bella, stella bella, desiderio que.' It basically means 'Star, beautiful star, grant me my wish tonight.' Even if it's a bit silly, I like to say it."   
"Bella, stella bella," I try, wishing with all my heart that Ryn and I stay with Tom and that Mr. Haddock stops abusing Oak. " Desiderio que."   
"That was perfect." Oakley muses. "I hope your wish come true."   
"Me, too." And then I am leaning into him, tear tracks dried on my cheeks, and he is leaning into me, and his lips crash against mine with an urgency. They're soft, and taste like mint; they meld to mine flawlessly, and I give his bottom one a little nick with my teeth before breaking away, heart flitting around like a hummingbird. "Ohmygosh." I gasp.   
"What?" Oakley chuckles, cupping my face in his hands again. "Was that not good enough for you?"

 

But before I can open my mouth and tell him that was my first kiss, the back door slams open. Ryn is standing there, hands on her hips, and Bill is looking at us with a curious expression.  
"Well, well!" she crows. "Looks like we interrupted our two lovebirds here!"  
I turn beet red, but Oakley challenges her.   
"Yeah, so?"  
"That was her first kiss!" Ryn gleefully says, and I duck my head under, not wanting to hear more of it. When I reappear, teeth chattering, Oakley is gazing at me intently.  
"Is that true, Rey?" he asks carefully. I nod, still not wanting to meet his gaze.  
"Well, was it good, or can we do better?" he winks, tilting my face up. That breaks away all forms of embarrassment, and I hug him.  
"It was perfect, Oak. Thank you." I laugh.  
"Good. Now let's get you cleaned up. I'm not having you leave my house with a cold," he says, picking me up onto his shoulders, both of us dripping wet. I have to duck my head to avoid getting hit on the doorframe, and he unceremoniously dumps me in the bathroom, coming back with my bag a few moments later. "See you in a few." he says, giving me another peck and closing the door behind him.

 

The next morning is almost as lovely as the night before, with Oak and Bill making breakfast for all of us. I find a blanket and wrap it around myself, too lazy to change out of my pajamas, and find Ryn already at the table, wolfing down her orange juice.  
"That's going to give you acid, you know. Drinking OJ on an empty stomach." I state, taking a seat next to her.  
"Well at least it won't give me mono." she replies back.  
I'm just about to push her off her chair when Oakley and Bill come in, holding heaping plates of omlettes and toast for us.  
"Breakfast is ready, you two." Oak announces as he slides a chair up next to me, giving me another kiss. "And Camryn, I don't have mono. Trust me. I tested negative two weeks ago, and I haven't kissed anyone since Rey then."   
"So ha." I say with a mouthful of toast.  
"Hasn't anyone told you to not talk with your mouth full of food?" Ryn teases, omlette half-chewn.  
"You're one to talk, miss hypocrite."  
A phone rings distantly, and I realize it's mine. I swallow the last of my omlette and bolt into the living room, picking it up.  
"Hi, Tom."  
"Good morning, darling. You two just about ready to go?"  
"Yep. We're all packed, and Ryn is finishing up her breakfast right now."  
"Did you have fun?"  
"Of course, Tom." I say, blushing again. "Nothing rash happened, if you were expecting anything."   
"Oh good." I can hear the grin in his voice. "Alright, well I'm coming over in a few minutes. Be ready."  
"Mmhm. Bye."  
"Bye, Reyna."  
No sooner than I had set down our bags at the door did I hear the doorbell ring, and I opened it to see Tom, tapping his foot expectantly. I give him a huge hug, and he returns it warmly.   
"Mr. Hiddleston, what a pleasure to see you." Oakley comes to the door, orange juice still in hand.  
"Did you take care of my girls well?" Tom asks.  
"But of course. This one here, well, she's a special one." Oak says, ruffling my hair.   
"Good. I'm glad to hear."  
Ryn approaches and picks up her bag, and there is something in her eyes as she looks at Bill. I wonder what it is.  
"Bye, Oakley." I kiss his cheek, and pick up my bag. I give a hug to Bill, too, and we leave to the car. I take the backseat, and my phone vibrates once again.  
"had a blast with you. come again some time? ;)"  
I clutch the phone to me, waving goodbye to Oakley and Bill, who were standing on the porch. And yes, there would be another time. I wouldn't miss it for anything.


	13. Welcome Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls return to a world they once knew so well and come to realize that while some things have changed dramatically, other things haven't changed one bit.

Camryn's POV

"Reyna, I have to talk to you about something."  
Upon the moment we return home from Oakley's house, Reyna and I trudged up to our shared bedroom, my sister halfway ignoring my comment as she flopped face first onto her bed.  
"Reyna?" I pressed.  
She sighed and rolled over to her back. "No, Oakley didn't bang me."  
I rolled my eyes. "Not about that."  
"Well, I hope it's good news, because I'm positively on cloud nine right now." Reyna sighs, giggling slightly.  
"Good night?" I asked.  
"Yup. But then again, anything would be a letdown after Oakley and then you telling me that Naomi is going to let us come back."  
"I wouldn't be so sure," I warned.  
"What about you? You have fun?" Reyna wiggles her eyebrows.  
I shrugged. "It was okay."  
"Come on. You looked like you were having fun when you were hanging out with Oak and I."  
"That's because I was with you two," I insisted.  
"Well, what in the heck did you two do when you were alone? You were getting some major pas de deux action going on, as far as I know."  
"I asked him to help me get a refresher before we go back so I'm not starting the class again blind. When you two were gone, we sat on separate couches and watched ballet movies. We hardly even talked."  
"I seriously can't believe that." Reyna sat up and put her elbows on her knees.  
"Okay, can we stop marveling at how one sleepover wasn't 'best night of my life' material and gear the conversation back towards what I wanted to talk to you about?" I was beginning to get annoyed hearing how well Reyna was adjusting to and enjoying this new life. It was proving not easy at all for me, and licks of jealousy started to slowly but surely fill my stomach.  
Reyna looks taken aback, and I make an effort to soften my tone and expression.  
"Okay, sure. Shoot," she prompts.  
I took a deep breath, deciding how I was going to word my announcement. "Well, when Naomi offered us our spots back at the Academy, that wasn't the only thing that she offered."  
"Oh...kay?" Reyna cocks an eyebrow.  
I crossed the room to dig around in my purse for the rehearsal schedule. My hand finally closed around the stapled pieces of slightly crumbled and very creased paper, and I toss it to my sister, who opens and studies it.  
"She also offered us Nut roles," I finished.  
"Is she crazy? There's no way we'd nail the choreography in time for the opening, which happens to be the day after Thanksgiving. And besides, we haven't done proper pointe work in years." Reyna sighs and tosses the paper aside.  
"That's what I said," I assured. "But it's nothing big. If we chose to do it, we would fill in for a couple party parents. She just wants us to get reintroduced to the life. And I talked to Tom about it when I told him about the Academy allowing us to come back, and he said he'd love it if we did it."  
Reyna's smile appears and grows larger and larger as I near the end of my mini speech, and when I finish she leaps to embrace me.  
"Yes, yes, yes! If that's the case, I'd love to do it!" she squeals.  
"Well, good. I already called Naomi and told her we were coming, so I don't know what my plan would have been if you said no," I admitted.  
"Well, I didn't, so you're safe. Ooh, I can't wait!"  
"You don't have to wait." I picked up my purse by its sleek leather strap. "Let's go."  
"Um..." Reyna opens the schedule and peers at the times. "Ryn, I know you like being punctual, but the rehearsal doesn't start until four. It's noon."  
"I know, but Naomi asked if we could come in an hour early to learn the choreography. And besides, we need to go shopping again. We have no dance clothes."  
"I like how you think, sister." Reyna jams shoes on her feet. "Go on, I'm right behind you."  
Reyna and I bid goodbye to Tom, walking to the nearest shopping center and entering a dancewear store, nearly drooling as we took it all in. We browsed the racks for at least an hour, finally purchasing multiple armfuls of leotards in all colors and styles, pale pink tights, leggings, sweaters, warmups, legwarmers, and everything else a dancer might need. After that we had our first pointe shoe fitting in years, an event that made tears sting the backs of my eyes. Once that was finished, we purchased from the shop every dance shoe we'd need for the Academy, changed in the bathroom, and set off for the Academy.  
"You came!" Naomi screeched as we pushed through the front doors, rushing over to sweep us into a hug. "Oh, Reyna, you've gotten so gorgeous!"  
"Hi to you too, Naomi." Reyna patted the instructor's back.  
Naomi led us up to the studios, chatting as she went. "Okay, this is really great. You guys chose the perfect day to come. We're actually fitting costumes today."  
I sighed. "I always loved costume fitting day."  
"It's the best," Reyna agreed.  
"Well, you get to experience it again. Lucky you." Naomi props open the door to a studio on the very top floor, one usually used for company rehearsals, and we strap on our character shoes as she plugs her iPod into the speaker system at the front of the room.  
"I am so ready for this," I whispered to Reyna as I fastened the silver buckle. "To finally have proper instruction, on a good floor, with music..."  
My sister sighed. "Me, too. I've missed it too much."  
"Alright. Are you ready, girls?" Naomi claps her hands, and we begin the process of chasing our dreams yet again.  
•  
Our old instructor was correct in her assumption that the choreography would take no time for us to learn. In forty-five minutes we had retained and nearly perfected the whole first act, leaving us up to speed with the rest of the group.  
"Whadaya know?" I wiped my brow with my palm. "We're still sharp."  
"I didn't expect anything less." Naomi switches off the speakers. "Now, I'm going to go give you two a break before everyone starts coming and we have to start up again. We'll be in Studio 5."  
"Alright, thanks." I took a sip from my water as she left the room, and Reyna and I rather ungracefully flopped to the floor, grappling for sweat towels and cardigans. Because of the lack of conversation, I could just barely make out the music for the Sugarplum Fairy solo leaking through the walls of the school.  
"I wonder who's got that part this year," I thought aloud. "Wanna go find out?"  
"I thought you'd never ask." Reyna hurries to get to her feet and we exit the studio, peering through studio windows until we found the culprit of the sound. We step up close to the glass on the door to Studio 3, and I suppress a gasp when a face that so shockingly resembled my own turned our way whist completing a section of turns.   
Well, well, well. If it isn't Ariana Orton herself.  
"Look." I tapped the door with my nail, bringing Reyna to attention as she wanders to check studio 2. "Mummy dearest."  
"I can't believe it. She's still dancing?" Reyna pressed closer.  
"Apparently." I step to the side so that I could get a better view. As I do, I notice Vladimir Osvaka, the director of the Royal Ballet, giving instructions by the mirror. "Oh, and dear old Dad is here, too. It's like a little family reunion, isn't it?"  
"Ugh." Reyna cringes as Ariana finishes the solo, laughing at herself, and Vladimir rises from his chair to give her a deep kiss. "They're still together? I thought we were just the result of an affair, not a long-term thing."  
"No, he put a ring on it." I pointed out the giant rock glittering on Ariana's finger.  
Reyna pulls a face and begins to cruelly mimic our biological parents. "'Oh, we've got our twins out of the way, let's get married, shall w-'"  
I grabbed Reyna by the fabric of her blue sweater, yanking her to the side."Out of the way, they're coming over!"  
The door opens, and the pair breezes out without even noticing our presence.  
"Vlad, please," Ariana titters, still with a hint of an American accent. "That was not my best and you know it."  
"Everything is your best," Vladimir insists, his arm encircling her waist.  
"Ew," Rey and I groan in unison.  
Ariana, as much as she'd like to think she is, isn't an English native. She was raised in southern America, looking for the best schools she could find in the small towns that her parents refused to move from. However, when she got accepted into a summer program at the Royal Ballet Academy and was asked to study there full time, she didn't hesitate before agreeing. And years later, here she is.  
Reyna and I watched as Ariana and Vladimir bode Naomi goodbye, and we flashed each other a look of agreement before thundering down the stairs for our attack.  
"Hey, Naomi," I called as we approached her once again. "How long have Ariana and Vladimir been together?"  
"Oh, about sixteen years," Naomi answered, shuffling through papers scattered about the front desk.  
"Sound familiar?" I muttered, raising my eyebrows at Reyna. She shakes her head in exasperation as a reply.  
"When did they get married?" my sister continued.  
"Six years ago. Their anniversary is coming up," Naomi recalls.  
"How come we never heard about it when we were at the Academy before?" I wondered.  
"Well, for one, you two were the biggest baby bunheads alive. You didn't care about who Ariana was dating, just her dancing, which is how it should always be. And besides, it was kept really secret for a long time. However, I was Ariana's friend at the time, so I know every detail."  
"Pray tell." I encouraged her to elaborate, hoping that I sounded genuinely curious.  
"Well, it started as an affair. It was nothing special. Everyone sleeps with the company director. But then Ariana got that back injury and was out for six months..."  
Not a back injury, I thought to myself.  
"She was absolutely depressed and wouldn't let anyone see her. She was even considering quitting, she had lost so much. But Vlad pulled her out of it, and something sparked. They kept it secret until they were sure that it was going to work out, and then he publicly proposed, which was a giant shock and made nearly every other dancer in the company hate her. And lo, that brings us to today."  
"Huh." Reyna played along with my act, dead set on not letting it slip that we had a personal connection to the topic. "All this time and we never even suspected. No one did."  
"Yeah, they were good," Naomi agreed. "I hear that there's a ton more to the story than that, but it's not mine to tell, and I doubt anyone will ever know exactly what those missing pieces are."  
"A ton more, huh?" I shot Reyna yet another pointed look. "I wonder what that mea-"  
"Camryn! Reyna! You made it!"  
I gasped in surprise before turning to identify the source of the sound, and spotted Bill entering the building, Cassidy and Xenia close behind, all three dressed for rehearsal and waving happily.  
"Yeah, we did!" I shook off Naomi's story to match his enthusiasm. "You proud of us?"  
"Of course I'm proud of you. This world needs more party parents." Bill approaches and loosely drapes his arm around my shoulder.  
"Stop flirting, Bill." Cassidy giggles as slaps his shoulder and shoves his arm off, then looks to us. "Shall we go up?"  
Bill offers to sign her in, and Cassidy agrees as she begins the trek up the stairs. Reyna and I followed her, and Cass let loose a huge sigh that seemed to be of relief.  
"I am so glad you guys are coming back. You can finally knock Emma out of the top spot."  
"Wait." I stopped in my tracks, my eyebrows soaring into my hairline. "Emma? How could that happen?"  
While we were at the Academy before foster care, Emma was a student who hadn't been kicked out yet simply because her parents had money. She was inflexible with thick limbs, full breasts, and ability that wasn't natural, the exact opposite of what a ballerina should be. I couldn't see how someone so far towards the bottom could soar so far up.  
"Well, a stretch coach, a nutritionist, a private Russian teacher, and a boob job is how it could happen," Cassidy giggled. "After you guys left, everyone's parents had hope again and binged on stuff like that, but Emma's family wins the prize for overdoing it. Ever since she's got to the top, she's been insufferable. However, we don't have to worry about that anymore. Our stars are back!"  
"Please, we were never the stars," I scoffed.  
"Oh, don't be so modest." Cass scolds.  
"What did Emma even get in Nutcracker? Or is she too good for it now and on winter exchange at Vagonova in Russia?" I teased, grinning as I pushed open the studio door.  
"Oh, she wishes," Cass assures. "But no. She's in Snow and Flowers, unfortunately."  
I feel my face fall. Snowflakes and Flowers are, while awful if you're in a professional company, the best possible roles to have a student, allowing you to dance side-by-side with professional ballerinas, proving to directors and critics that you are just as good as the people next to you. And I can't help but think that if Reyna and I had continued, that's where we'd be at this time.  
"Yup," Cassidy continues, reading my expression. "She's the first freaking one out of the wings when the music starts and is in the best spot in formation in Snow, and in the front all through Flowers. It's awful."  
"And what are you?" I asked, sitting under the barres and strapping on my shoes again.  
Cassidy's face floods with guilt, and she stares down at her taped toes.  
"Snowflake and Flower," she mutters, but looks up to apply a layer of unnecessary comforting. "But I'm completely sure that's what you guys would have been of you came whenever we first started auditions. It's just a matter of demand, you know. And Naomi loves you gu-"  
"Cass." I interrupt. "It's fine. It's well deserved."  
She smiles, obviously freed of her bad feelings. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that."  
"What did everyone else in the level get?" Reyna cuts in, obviously curious and still in a snooping mood.  
"Most of us are in Snow and Flowers, which, as I'm sure you know, is pretty common of our level. But those who aren't are either party parents," Cass smiles pointedly, "or Chocolates. That's what Bill and Xenia are in. They're partners."  
"Oh, speaking of, when did Bill come here? I meant to ask him but I never got the chance." I fidgeted with my necklace before deciding to tuck it into the neckline of my leotard. Out of sight, out of mind.  
"Oh, you'll have to ask him about the details, because he rarely ever lets on. He's all about now and the future, always moving forward." Cassidy rolls her eyes and laughs. "But from what I understand, he comes from a small school in the suburb he used to live in, and competed in the Prix two years ago, when Naomi happened to be judging. She saw him dance and offered him a scholarship."  
"Well, he's really talente-"  
Before I can finish my reply, our catch-up conversation is interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice.  
"Well, well, well." Emma clucks, and we turn to see her leaning in the doorway, a devilish smile tattooed on her lips. "Look what the cat dragged in!"  
"Wow, lovely greeting, Em." Cass narrows her eyebrows as she looks up from her half-sewn shoes.  
"Please, Cassidy, don't be cross. I was only kidding," Emma assures, but her voice leaks sarcasm. "Camryn, Reyna, darlings." She extends her arms for a hug and my sister and I reluctantly stand to comply, but instead she presses chaste kisses to each cheek.  
"Wow, Emma, hi. You look..." I step back to take in her appearance. People have been known to say that we resemble one another, but even though we've the same general coloring, the statement couldn't be further from the truth. She's wearing a deep blue leotard with a long, white, romantic style rehearsal tutu, her pointe shoes already secured to her feet. All of the excess fat and skin of her legs have morphed into muscle, but they're still thick and stumpy. However, it's obvious that she doesn't realize that thin and coltish can't be faked. She's worked away all of the pudge of her stomach and a seemingly very expensive breast reduction boasts its near-perfect results. Her arms have reached the point where they could be considered dancer-thin, but the high neckline of her leotard says that she's still working to achieve the dancer's chest, which consists of a prominent-beyond-realistic-standards clavicle and sternum. Her chubby cherub cheeks have faded, leaving her with a strong, square jawline and an infuriatingly attractive face.  
Her skin's natural porcelain quality has held, and her tawny eyes are framed by massively blackened eyelashes. She's coated her lips with a bright crimson stain, an old signature and defining trait of mine when I had the tools, and she has dyed the ends of her dark brown locks honey blonde, giving it a slight ombré effect, and has them secured in a sleek French twist, also an old signature style of mine.  
"Well, you look good," I fill in.  
"Thank you, lovely," she titters, giving us the up-down as well.  
"Who's your beauty muse?" I ask, trying to trap her. "That look seems awfully familiar."  
"Why, myself, of course!" Emma laughs. "I do make an impression, don't I?"  
Cassidy, who has moved to a position behind the new star, mimes vomiting, causing Reyna and I to have to bite back laughter.  
"And you two, wow." She sucks in air through her perfectly straight teeth, faked through years of orthodontia. "I guess you're just solid proof that what goes up must come down."  
Reyna, Cassidy, and I gasp at her audacity. I guess her attitude is the one thing that hasn't changed.  
"And what about you, huh?" I ask seriously, but keep my tone light and good-natured.  
Emma laughs again. "I am not a ball, my dears. I am a cloud. I may occasionally float lower than usual, but I am constantly high in the sky and there to stay."  
"Emma!" A girl across the room calls, allowing Reyna and I to turn and let several choked laughs loose. "Could you go over the ending of Flowers with me? I still can't get it right, and I don't want Vladimir to get upset again."  
"Coming, Faye!" Emma responds, then clasps our hands in hers. "It was lovely seeing you again. Welcome back."  
When she's occupied with Faye, Reyna and I cackle without restraint, returning to our spots under the barre.  
"What, did she take some sort of 'bad and contradictory metaphor' class as well? 'I'm a cloud'?" Reyna gasps. "And what's with the vocab? Darling, dear, lovely?"  
"I know, right! Tell me more about how you're rehearsing for the part of Swan Queen with the company, Em." I wipe tears from my eyes. "And she has to be related to Katie. Or at least good friends with her. She's like Mini Baxter's much-prettier twin. Which is awful, because her looks only make me hate her more. It's not fair."  
"Oh, whatever. You are SO much prettier than her." Reyna smacks me with her sweater sleeve. "But, yeah, they have to know each other. It's uncanny."  
"Em!" I gestured for her to come over when she finished with Faye. "One more thing."  
"Of course. Let's hear it." She pulls her shoe up higher on her heel.  
"Do you happen to know anyone named Katie Baxter?" I inquired.  
Emma's face darkens dramatically. "Please. Don't." Her words are forceful, the calm and airy nature gone. "Just the mention of her name nauseates me."  
I raise my eyebrows in mock interest and concern. "What happened?"  
"Well, last semester, she transferred to my school. It's a very high-status academy, you know, and finding your way can be difficult. So, I, being the good citizen that I am and upholding my duty as vice president of the student government, I extended my wing of friendship and encouraged my friends to do the same."  
From my peripheral vision I can make out Reyna biting down hard on her knuckles.  
"But she soon became power hungry and turned against me, after everything I've done for her." Emma bites her lip, sniffling.  
"Emma, I'm sorry. That sounds awful." I am such a liar. It took all of my physical and mental strength combined to refrain from guffawing in her face.  
"Yes, well..." She trails off, blinking furiously as to not ruin her perfect mascara. "Excuse me."  
As she dashes over to the tissue box, I turn to Reyna and shrug.  
"She turned into a bitch to fight a bitch. It makes sense."  
"Yeah, it does." Reyna chuckles. "But does she seriously expect people to feel sorry for her?"  
At that moment, the door to the room flings open and Vladimir storms in, all of the tenderness he displayed with Ariana absent.  
"It is past our scheduled starting point by fifteen minutes and I've got a very important interview in an hour," he booms, pulling a chair to the center of the mirror and dropping his notebooks and papers to the floor. "I expect complete focus from the dancers I am rehearsing and complete silence from the dancers I am not as our time together is shortened. Naomi will take further care of you later. Now, Snowflakes to starting positions. Music in three, two, one..."  
•  
When night has fallen and rehearsal is over, Reyna and I reluctantly shed our colorful dresses in the costume shop (hers purple, mine red), waved to Bill as he hung up his Spanish Chocolate vest, grabbed our bags from the pile in the corner, and mentally prepared ourselves for the long walk home, weighting the pros and cons of catching a cab. However, as we neared the main doors, a voice called out to us. We turned in alarm, but spotted only the familiar figure of Tom, who happened to be leaning in a scarcely noticed corner, chin cast downward and the hood of his sweatshirt up, concealing his identity so not to cause a big fuss, something we had discussed and agreed to act upon until things became more solid. But when we approached, he pushed his hood down and perked up, hugged us in turn, escorting us out to the car. He asked us bunches questions about the rehearsal and Reyna and I told him everything, from Emma to Vladimir's meltdowns to costume malfunctions. He laughed along with us and inquired about what sort of takeout we'd like for dinner, commenting that he knew how exhausting rehearsals could be and that we needed our strength for future ones.  
Even though I was completely immersed in the conversation, I couldn't help but notice how much it seemed like what having a real father would be like.  
And how Reyna and I would've never gotten this kind of affection if two self-involved, career-obsessed people would've kept us.


	14. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom takes the girls to a special friend's house for dinner.

Tears are still running down my face long after the TV screen has turned black, and I stare blankly out the window, wiping my eyes on the hem of my pajama top.  
“Darlings?” Tom calls from his study.  
“What?” Camryn hollers from the hallway, where she’s going over her Nut steps. I give no response.  
Tom comes into the living room with a ruffle of his hair, and addresses the whole house.   
“An absolutely lovely friend of mine invited us over for dinner tonight, and I said that we would go. So get dressed, please? We’re leaving in a few minutes.”  
“Mmkay.” Ryn bounds upstairs, no doubt running through all the makeup possiblilities that would go with whatever outfit she picked out in her head. Yet, I still don’t move.   
“Reyna, what’s the matter?” Tom asks, sliding next to me on the couch. I sniffle and blow my nose on the tissue he offers me.  
“Sherlock died. He jumped off a goddamn building and now he’s dead.”  
Tom raises an eyebrow at me and the beginnings of a smile creep up on the corners of his mouth, but the death glare I give him almost immediately silences it.  
“Reyna, Sherlock isn’t dead.”   
“But he…”  
“Do you trust me?” I nod. “Then go get dressed.” he says, kissing the top of my head. “How else would there be a third season in the making without Sherlock Holmes himself being in it?”  
“Maybe the new season is all about Watson. Coping with his best friend’s death.”  
Putting his hands pointedly on his hips, Tom imitates a snobbish voice.  
“Well I, as your guardian, instruct you to get ready. You need all the energy you can get for tomorrow, and crying tires a person out.” I giggle.  
“Thank you, Dr. Tom. Now will you be giving me a prescription as well?” I laugh as I elbow him in the ribs, getting up off the couch and heading upstairs, two at a time.

Tom hurries out of his room, cheeks flushed and straightening his bowtie.  
“Tom, your hair!” I laugh. “It’s all over the place.” I say, taking out my emergency styling mousse out of the pocket of my dress and smearing it all over his curls, fixing them into place.   
“Thank you, darling. I needed some of that.” He absentmindedly runs his fingers through the tawny locks. I check my scarf again and make sure my earrings are in the right place before dragging on midnight, thigh-high boots and wrapping my matching ebony peacoat around me.   
“Camryn, dear? Are you coming or not?” Tom yells, slipping into his jacket.  
“I’m right here, I’m right here,” she says, breathlessly coming down the stairs. Tom chuckles.  
“You’ve cleaned up well.” he says. It was true. Ryn wore a sleek black dress that clung to her small curves, paired with a red silk cardigan that reaches her knees and semi-sheer red tights. She blushes at the compliment, then looks at me for my opinion as she pulls on raven-colored heeled booties. I nudge her.  
“Hey, guess we’re not pack rats anymore, are we?” I whisper. We laugh, yet there is a part of my subconscious that really wonders how much of it is true. Ryn notices it as well, and we both stay silent as Tom opens the door. But instead of going to the garage, he takes our hands in his again, now a routine habit of ours.  
“What, we’re walking?” I mutter tremendously.  
“Do you have a problem with that, Reyna?” Tom worries. “He lives literally right around the corner.”  
“Oh.” I chastize myself for being so stupid, and we walk down the narrow road, streetlights illuminating our path. “So who IS this friend of yours?”  
“You’ll see.” Tom grins, and I huff. I was never one for patience, and curiosity killed me almost as often as it did the cat. But it’s not long before we reach an oaken door, gleaming in the moonlight. Tom knocks hard, twice, and we wait, little steam puffs of our own air keeping us warm. Then, the door whines open.

  
“Darling,” Tom says, pulling the tall man into a strong hug. “It’s been too long.”   
Ryn must’ve gone inside with Tom when I wasn’t looking; now I’m the only one standing outside. The man turns around and faces me, giving me a warm smile.  
“Won’t you come in?”   
My jaw drops.  
“You’re- you-” I say, pointing a shaky finger at him. “You’re Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you? Aren’t you dead?” He laughs.  
“As much as I wish I could be, I only play him on the telly. You need to work more on your deductions, Watson,” he says, putting out a hand. “The name’s Benedict.” I take it, and he leads me inside the house, shutting out the cold winter behind him.  
“And I’m not Watson. My name’s-“  
“Reyna. I know. Tom’s told me a lot about you two.” Benedict says with a wink. “Maybe I need to work on my deductions as well, although I could say you’re dressed like me tonight more than dear John.”  
He was right. I had on a deep purple, cowl-neck sweater dress, and the scarf I was wearing was a bright cobalt. With my coat and boots on, I could say I looked a bit like the detective himself.  
“Ben, dear? Could you come here for a moment, please?” a tender voice calls from the direction of the kitchen.  
“Coming, Mum.” he says, leaving me alone in the foyer. “And oh, you and Camryn, please,” addressing the both of us, Ryn suddenly appearing out of nowhere, “make yourselves at home.”

A little after seven thirty, we are all settled at the gorgeous mahogany table sitting in the middle of the dining room, with a gleaming feast spread out to every corner of the table. There is the turkey, prized and situated in the middle of all the splendor, surrounded by every kind of fall vegetable possible and delectable mashed potatoes. Rolls sat in little woven baskets all around the table, buttered to perfection and smelling of fresh flour and yeast.  
“I thought you only invited us, Mr. Benedict?” I inquire, raising an eyebrow at him from across the table.   
“My parents,” he laughs, gesturing to the elderly man and woman sitting on either side of him, “love to cook for guests.”   
“Ah.” I say, reaching for a nearby basket of rolls.   
“I hope the food is alright,” Benedict’s mom says, as beautiful as ever. “My cooking skills have been declining with every birthday of mine.”  
“No, it’s divine, Mrs. Cumberbatch.” Tom murmurs before taking another bite of his turkey. He looks over to my plate.  
“Reyna, eat! You two have opening night tomorrow, and I am not letting you pass out on stage!” I blush at this reprimand, and duck my head.  
“Yes, _Daddy_ ,” I retort, amazed at how easily the words come to my mouth now. “I know. That’s why I’m carb-loading on potatoes and gravy.” I say as I gesture to my plate. I look over at Mrs. Cumberbatch’s face, and I don’t know whether it holds worry or concern. Smiling at her, I reassure her that the food is lovely, and that instantly causes her to burst into a grin. Phew.  
“Opening night? Performance? What’s all this, you guys?” Benedict asks, setting down his fork. But before Ryn and I can both open our mouths, Tom interjects, beaming with pride and slinging his right arm across our seats.   
“These two are performing in the Nutcracker at the Royal Opera House starting tomorrow, via the Royal Academy of Ballet.” The Cumberbatch family breaks into wide smiles of awe, and Benedict has the heart to even softly clap.  
“So we are in the presence of two of the best ballerinas in the country, yes?” He grins.   
“We’re just party parents,” Ryn mumbles, her face as red as her cardigan. “It’s not like we’re Clara and the Sugar Plum Fairy.” I nod in agreement, gazing downwards.  
“Well, I do hope that we can come watch you. The Royal Ballet, that’s something special.”  
“Of course,” I reply in awe. “It’d be an honor.”


	15. The Opera House

Tom pulls up to the theatre, turning around from the wheel to face us with an earnest expression on his face.  
"Now, I really wish I could stay with you, but I don't want to cause a fuss and have paparazzi following you two around everywhere." He restates our agreement in an apologetic tone.  
"It's alright, Tom, really," I assured, grabbing the handle of my overstuffed Vera Bradley duffel bag.  
"I'm glad. Now remember, I'll be here a bit before the show begins if you need anything and you can call me at any time. I'm just going to be having a few cuppas with Benedict. Have a good day." Tom smiled broadly, obviously soaking in the experience of being on the flip side of the performance world.  
"Thanks, Tom!" Reyna hugs him round the neck and slides out of the car, and I do the same, planting a peck on his cheek before leading the way to the main entrance of the Royal Opera House, nursing my iced coffee purchased from a nearby deli.  
"Keep a lookout for Cassidy," I instruct, checking my phone for messages. "I said that we'd meet her by the main entrance at eight to go check dressing room assignments together."  
"Sure, sure." Reyna struggles under the weight of her own bag, which contained all of the supplies we'd need to keep in the Opera House for the next month during the run of the ballet, including a plethora of leotards, warmups, and makeup.  
"You guys looking for me?" Someone taps me on the shoulder and I whip around to discover Cass, her auburn hair braided down her shoulder, a purple parka thrown on over her RBA jacket. "Shall we go in? I'm freezing out here."  
Reyna agrees, but I pause for a moment to tip my head up to the rolling gray sky, checking for signs of truth to the morning's weather report. There's a harsh and bitter bite in the air and mist stings my cheeks, which are encouraging signs.  
"It's supposed to storm tonight," I prompted as I caught up with the girls.  
"Oh my god. Do you still have that superstition that if it storms during a performance that it's going to be one of the best performances of your life?" Cassidy laughs.  
I put my hands up. "Hey, it's never proved me wrong."  
Reyna rolls her eyes good-naturedly as we push through the doors, a pleasantly warm blast of air greeting us, the foyer nearly empty as we are some of the first students to arrive.  
"Hey, guys!" Naomi calls, approaching with an armful of papers, holding some out to us. "Schedules?"  
"Yes, please." We each take one and look it over, and Naomi grins.  
"The dressing rooms are in the basement, and the room assignments are on the bulletin board that's hanging right beside where the elevator comes out. If you have any trouble finding anything, you just come get me. It's going to be a chaotic day, I can feel it." Naomi hurries to give the same speech to a mother with a little girl in a pink leotard clutching her hand, and I read the schedule aloud.  
"Nine to nine thirty, announcements in the main auditorium. Nine thirty to ten fifteen, warmup class on the main stage. Ten fifteen to eleven thirty, preliminary run-through, only students, no costumes."  
"Well, there goes a morning of enjoying the theatre." Cassidy presses the button to summon an elevator, stepping in once the doors admitted us. I agree, and continue reading.  
"Eleven thirty to twelve thirty, lunch. Twelve thirty to one thirty, costume check-out. One thirty to four, dress rehearsal with company members. Four to six, break for final preparations to be made. At six, all students are to be on the main stage for final announcements and costume checks, and the show starts at seven."  
"Wow." Reyna blows a strand of hair off of her forehead. "Packed day."  
"I didn't expect anything less." I said, remembering how busy the days could be even if we had the smallest parts possible. In the middle of revisiting a memory about getting horribly lost on the way to the stage five minutes before my entrance when I was Clara, the elevator doors slide open, and a long hallway is displayed before us. "Look, there's the bulletin board."  
Cassidy approaches it, running her finger along the names. When she finds hers, she taps the paper it's on and calls us over.  
"We're all together in dressing room four," she reports. "Along with...ugh, along with Emma."  
"Oh, well." I shrugged. "It won't be so bad, as long as we can ignore her."  
"You're certainly in a good mood," Reyna observes.  
"I just feel bad for the corps girls," I confide as we begin trekking down the hallway, squinting at the numbers on the doors. "They had to take the dressing rooms upstairs just so some students could have a place to put their stuff."  
"Trust me when I say they don't mind." Cassidy looks away from the door with a golden "10" nailed on it. "My cousin's a corps member, and she says that the singers' dressing rooms are way roomier and have cleaner bathrooms."  
"Is she sure that isn't because the singers' dressing rooms aren't occupied by messy ballerinas?" I joke, then spot our dressing room, a typed sheet of paper displaying our names taped on the door.  
"Don't you guys think that it's weird that you happen to look a lot like Ariana Orton AND have her last name?" Cassidy marveled as she glanced at the sheet and started to turn the handle. "I bet when you guys look for your birth parents you'll discover that she's your long-lost aunt or something."  
"Wait." I brushed off her wonderings, noticing that our dressing room was sandwiched between two doors with stars on them. "I want to see who we're next to."  
The room to our left belonged to Sarah Lamb, a young rising star in the company right on Ariana's heels. The star to our right read "Ariana Orton-Osvaka," and while Reyna and I shared a panicked look Cassidy squealed in delight.  
"Screw your storms. If that doesn't mean we're in for good luck, I don't know what does!" She finally pushed open the door, and the room revealed was that of what is recreated in movies. Two shining counters and mirrors are on both the right wall and the left wall, each complete with a set of bright vanity lights. The walls are painted a chipping tan, with holes from nails and thumbtacks scattered about, and the room smells of Pine-Sol, revealing that it's just been cleaned. Each counter has four large drawers and enough storage space under them for our gargantuan bags, and in front of them sit mismatched vanity chairs. There's a large clothing rack nailed to the back wall, an old space heater next to it, and a door near the front corner of the left wall leads to a bathroom with four stalls and four showers.  
"This. Is amazing." Reyna moves in to place her bag on the nearest counter to the left, but I stop, her pulling out a Polaroid camera bought on a shopping spree two days before along with massive amounts of stage makeup.  
"You two will thank me for getting before and after shots." I snap a photo of the empty room as well as one of Reyna, Cassidy, and I, smiling as they developed.  
"Yeah, once we're the 'messy ballerinas'." Cassidy laughed. "Let's make this home, shall we?"  
I pick the space beside Reyna's, and Cassidy picks the one across from mine, leaving the one closest to the door on the right side for Emma. After hanging the two photos to the rim of my mirror, I unzipped my bag and dumped its contents on the counter, some spilling out onto the floor.  
"Did one of you happen to bring hangers?" Cassidy asked, crumpling a handful of tights in her hand. I tossed her one of my three packages before dividing up the clothing rack into four equal sections and performing the rocket science of trying to fit all of my clothes into the area, eventually having to store my tights and cardigans in my bag and shoving it in front of my chair. Next, I take my plasticky bag of toiletries, remove my perfume, deodorant, lotions, and toothbrush, taking the remaining travel-sized soap and poufs into the bathroom to claim a shower. When I returned, I arranged my hairbrush, lipsticks, and eyeshadows about the counter and began to stock the drawers, putting my bobby pins and hairnets in one, the remainder of my makeup in another, my creams and post-performance supplies in the next, which left me with my arnica gel, icy-hot, blister cream, Advil, and bandaids. As I opened the last drawer, I discovered a cluster of flowers that seemed to be from the flower garlands in Sleeping Beauty. I squealed, pulling it out to display my prize.  
"A souvenir! How lucky am I?" I let Reyna and Cassidy take a glance at them before affixing the miniature bouquet to my mirror as well, putting away my last few items and admiring my work.  
I was one of the first ones done, and after taking a quick photo of my new area I plopped down on my chair and began to fill in scuffs on my character shoes with a black permanent marker. As I'm doing this, from my mirror I can see Cassidy remove two small posters from her bag. She unfolds them carefully, and one is of Tom as Loki, the other of him performing in Coriolanus.  
"Cass?" I asked, still staring into the glass. "What are you doing over there?"  
"Oh." She giggled, a violent blush rising in her lightly freckled cheeks. "These." She stands on her chair and begins to secure them above her mirror.  
"Yes, those. What are they?"  
Reyna notices our conversation and turns to see for herself, gasping and muffling giggles with her hand.  
"You guys are totally going to laugh at me." Cassidy shakes her head, and I nudged Reyna's leg with my toe to get her to calm down.  
"We're not going to laugh at you, Cass," I promised.  
"Well, um, in the last year or so, I've developed a celebrity crush on a brilliantly talented actor named Tom Hiddleston." Cassidy went even redder, the color reaching her ears.  
Upon hearing Tom's name, even I couldn't keep the giggles from leaving my mouth.  
"See! I said you guys would laugh!" Cassidy chucks a pair of polka-dotted leggings at me.  
"We're not laughing at you, Cass. We're laughing WITH you," Reyna gasps.  
"It's just a teensy little crush!" Cassidy throws her hands over her ears, but our bonding time is interrupted by a cool voice.  
"She's lying," Emma intones. "She's a complete and total fangirl."  
Our fourth roommate leans against the doorway, a green smoothie in one manicured hand, a Coach carry-on in the other. Tiffany sunglasses are perched atop her head even though it's the complete opposite of sunny, and I recognize her coat from a window display at Burberry.  
"Don't worry, Cassidy," she continues, her lips pulling into a smile. Today they're tinged a warm reddish-brown, and I put a hand up to my lips to wipe my own lipstick away, which happened to be a similar shade, replacing it with one of shell pink.  
"I admire your taste," Emma assures, dropping her bag delicately on her chair. "I do hope you left room for me."  
"There's plenty," Reyna informs, a little too forcefully.  
"Oh, lovely." Emma opens the bag and removes four thick garment bags, stuffed beyond belief with who knows what sort of clothing. We all watch intently as she hangs them on her section of the closet, then begins to put away her makeup.  
"Don't you like my new necklace?" She suddenly asks, assuming that it's what we're looking at. Emma puffs her chest out to display a small silver snowflake with tiny diamonds at each point. "My parents got it for me as a good-luck present."  
"It's pretty," I compliment halfheartedly, picking out a gray cotton leotard and black trash bag material warmup pants before changing into them and pulling on a pastel pink knee-length cardigan.  
When I'm finished dressing and touching up my bun with a few sprits of hairspray, I notice that Emma has taken off her own coat, showing off a leotard from Elevé Dancewear, a brand notorious for its unusual and fun patterns and designs. The one Emma is wearing happens to be pumpkin orange, with a semi-sheer neckline and cap sleeves that have an autumn leaves design.  
"Wow, Emma. Very festive leo." Cassidy eyes Emma, molding her hair into a bun.  
"Oh, I know. It's one of my favorites, and this is pretty much the last day I can wear it. Nutcracker premiere equals winter." She retrieves her technique shoes from her bag. "I'm going to go find a good seat for announcements. Would anyone care to join me?"  
Reyna, now in her scoop-necked burgundy leotard with a pair of black leggings and a cropped white sweatshirt, shrugs in defeat, Cassidy silently agrees as she ties her jacket around her waist, and we all begrudgingly follow Emma to the elevator and into the auditorium, situating ourselves in the third row.  
"You know, I feel bad for the understudies," Emma whispers to us as people begin to trickle into the theatre, pointing out hers. "They're all crammed into one dressing room, you know. That's got to be awful."  
"I'm just glad that isn't me," I muttered.  
"Oh, I forgot!" Emma exclaimed. "You and Reyna don't have understudies, do you? You came too late in the process."  
"That's the case," I replied bluntly.  
"Well, what are they planning to do if you two can't go on?" Emma pried.  
"Pull aside some of the other party parent understudies, teach them the blocking, and hope for the best," I quipped, sighing in relief as Naomi stepped up onto the stage.  
"What've I missed?" A voice suddenly whispered in my ear and I jumped to find Bill sliding into the seat next to me. "The guys' dressing rooms are so hard to find."  
"You haven't missed anything," I whispered back, putting pressure on Reyna's toe with my foot as I noticed her making kissy faces out of the corner of my eye. "Naomi's just about to start."  
"Welcome, everybody, to the dress rehearsal of the Royal Ballet's The Nutcracker," our school director begins, and a light smattering of applause sounds throughout the area. "Now, as we all know, days like this can get pretty crazy, so we want it to run as smoothly as possible. In order for that to happen, you each have to play your part. We want to make a good impression on the company members and Mr. Osvaka so that they will continue to include us in their productions and give us stage experience valuable to a well-rounded dance education."  
"As if they would stop casting students in the ballet," Emma comments to Cassidy. "They need us to make the magic happen."  
I rolled my eyes, turning my attention back to Naomi.  
"Now, the company is currently taking class at the school. It ends at eleven, so they should start to drift in here when you guys are on your lunch break. I'm going to tell you this right now: don't. Bother. Them. Let them go about their business. I don't want to hear of anyone asking for autographs or pictures. They have their own schedule to attend to.  
"Now, during the costume check out period, we will be calling you down to the costume room by group. It will be your responsibility to keep track of your costume and all of its pieces during the entire run of the show and keep it looking nice. Also, when you are not getting your costume, I expect you to be putting on your stage makeup and getting your hair done. I don't want anyone late for our big run-through."  
I allowed myself to zone out as Naomi began to talk about how room mothers had to stay in the room at all times and escort their charges to the stage doors, where it would be the responsibility of us older students to help the children get to where they need to be and keep them out of the way of company members, picking at my cuticles lazily. Even though I had missed it for three years, I had the "Nutcracker Dress Rehearsal Speech" practically memorized.  
"'And to conclude,'" I whispered along to Naomi's words. "'Level Four and up will be having a warm up class on the stage behind me and Level Three and below will be getting stretched out in the upstairs auditorium. Have a great, momentous day, and good luck.'"  
When Naomi put the microphone down, the curtain behind her rose, revealing a stage full of portable metal barres against a backdrop designed to look like the inside of the Stahlbaum's grand home, a comical contrast. A hoard of students crawl up onto the stage, Cassidy, Reyna, Bill, and I occupying a barre at the very front, Emma the one directly next to it.  
Once everyone is situated, Naomi demonstrates a simple yet long plié combination, designed to warm us up as much as possible in a small amount of time. She motions to the pianist nestled in the orchestra pit, and Reyna and I begin our first real ballet class in three years, and, even though we're the slightest bit behind, vibrant smiles are plastered on our face the entire time.  
•  
"All party scene dancers to the stage please, all party scene dancers, this is your five-minute call."  
"Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time," Reyna grumbled at the intercom as she struggled with the buckle of her shoe back in the dressing room. Emma turns to smile at us, lowering her half-on-half-off ribbon/shoe combination and sewing needle into her lap.  
"You'd best hurry. You know Vladimir is extremely anal about punctuality."  
I rolled my eyes, draping my cardigan over my chair and helping Reyna to her feet. "We'll be there in plenty of time, I assure you."  
We ignored the impossibly long line for the elevator and instead bolted up the stairs, bursting through the stage door and checking in with the stage manager.  
At this point we parted ways, Reyna going to meet her partners at the back of the line waiting to walk across the stage to demonstrate guests arriving for the party, mine at the front.  
Thankfully, the boy acting as my "husband" happened to be Harry, one of my best friends from my first run at the Academy. The little girl playing our "daughter" was named Hollie, and she was as sweet and as beautiful as a child could be.  
"Hi, Hollie!" I greeted, bending down as she hugged my legs. "Are you excited?"  
She nodded, and I re-pinned a strand of curly blonde hair into her bun.  
"Are you ready?" Harry asked me as the music began, and I nodded before taking his left arm with my right and Hollie's warm hand in the other. I smiled broadly, and on Naomi's count, stepped onto the stage.  
We ran through the entire first act: dancing with the children, Clara's uncle gifting her with her precious nutcracker, the little girl showing the gift of to her friends, the adults leaving and the Nutcracker coming to life to fight the Mouse King. As the Snow scene began and Clara and her prince began to weave through the dancers, I noticed Hollie watching in the wings, and I went to join her, eyes focused intently on Cassidy.  
"Amazing, isn't it?" I whispered to Hollie, and when she didn't reply, glanced down at her. Instead of her eyes being lit up in amazement and wonder, her expression is sad, her cheeks damp.  
"What's wrong?" I asked.  
"Nothing," Hollie replied, swiping at her eye.  
"Hollie, I'm not stupid. Something's wrong."  
Hollie sighed heavily. "I'm not just a party girl."  
"Really?" I exclaimed quietly. "That's great!"  
"It isn't," she protested. "I'm also Clara's understudy. Mia Parker is the normal Clara, and I know I shouldn't feel this way and I feel bad because I do, but I keep hoping she won't be able to dance and I can go on. But I haven't even been able to do the steps normally, because Mr. Vladimir won't let me. He said it distracts Mia."  
"Hollie." I knelt down to meet her eye. "I understand how you feel. And it's not wrong to feel that way."  
"No you don't! You were the star of the Academy! You danced Clara!"  
"Not at first," I said gently. "The year before I danced Clara, I was a party girl and her understudy. I felt the exact same way you do, and it was worse because it was actually my sister dancing Clara." I laughed. "But trust me when I say that understudying is the next step towards actually dancing the part."  
Hollie is just about to protest again when Vladimir's voice interrupts us.  
"I'd like to run the act with the understudies, please!" He requests into the microphone. Hollie's face contorts with nerves, but I give her an encouraging smile and send her on her way as I take my opening position once again.  
•  
After Act I has finished rehearsing, Reyna and I make our way back to the dressing room to change out of our dance attire and into our street clothes. I finished off my coffee and tossed it in the wastebasket as I pulled my sweater on, checking an online list of nearby places to eat.  
"I don't know if I can stand an entire month of being this confined with Emma," Reyna gripes, sifting through the girl's clothes delicately. "She doesn't own anything not designer."  
"What did you expect? Her parents are gazillionares."  
"What exactly do they do again?"  
"Her dad is some kind of surgeon and her mother invented this really popular social media site," I reported.  
"Ugh." Reyna plops down in her chair as Cassidy and Emma enter, faces flushed and sweaty. They hurry to peel off their leotards and tights, replacing them with jeans and sweaters, just like Reyna and I.  
"Would you guys like any sushi?" Emma asked, removing the pins from her hair and fluffing it. "Mother is offering to bring us takeout."  
"Actually, Emma, we were just planning on swinging by the café across the street," I replied, not at all hurt over letting her down.  
"Oh." She chews her lip. "Can I come?"  
And with that phrase, our dreams of a pleasant lunch are ruined. Instead, we have to deal with Emma harping us about how many calories and grams of fat were in our entrees and bragging about the time she took a master class with the artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet. It seems like an eternity has passed when we push through the Opera House doors, and the party parents getting called for costume check out right away is a pleasant surprise.  
The costume shop is in a corner room in the basement, and quite possibly the largest space in the theatre, apart from the main auditorium. In it resides an impossible number of racks with every costume imaginable, a large assortment of tables for repair work, a circular stool in front of a full-length mirror to mark where alterations need to be made for specific dancers, a curtained-off area for them to change, and a small army of dressers and seamstresses making sure the costumes are perfect.  
When we enter, we're instructed to form a line as two women and one man with clipboards run back and forth with names and costumes. When it's my turn, the man approaches me, breathing slightly heavy, and asks for my name.  
"Camryn Orton," I replied. He nodded, and disappeared into the racks, only to return with my red and black Victorian-style gown, along with the matching coat, bonnet, and muff to be worn at the very beginning of the act. He instructs me to sign next to my name and I do so, draping the costume over my arm and hurrying back to the dressing room, nearly bumping into Cassidy and Emma as they go for their own costumes, to begin my stage makeup.  
Stage makeup was always something that I've loved and been extremely gifted in. It allowed me to go from the other sister to the star ballerina in an instant, and lord knows I needed it.  
First, I begin by using a spray bottle to spritz water into a compact of thin, packed makeup called pancake, turning it into a thick goo. I dip a makeup sponge into the mixture and pat a thick layer onto my face, and as it dries it makes my skin as smooth and as clear as can be. After that, I press on a layer of thick white powder, turning me as pale as a corpse, but bring life to my face with a thick line of blush under my cheekbones and extending from my brow bone. Next, I adorn my eye with a dark, overdramatic look resembling a smokey eye, completing it with thick lines of winged black eyeliner on both my upper lash line and lower lash line. When that's finished, I apply glue to the ends of fake eyelashes that reminded me of butterfly wings, fitting them just above my natural ones. And to top it all off, I apply a deep berry lipstick, making it shine with a layer of gloss.  
I put my brushes down, observing myself from every angle. THIS was who Camryn Orton was, not the quiet girl standing silently next to her heroic sister.  
•  
After finishing our part in the run-through with the company, Reyna and I slip down to the auditorium to watch Act II. I smile as I watch Bill's lively flair in the Spanish dance, and he spots me in the small audience and joins us the moment he's finished.  
When Ariana takes the stage in a white and gold tutu and white wig, I immediately tense. Bill notices, but makes the wrong assumption as to the reason.  
"She's the best dancer ever, isn't she?" He whispers as the music began. "She's enchanting onstage."  
I nodded absentmindedly, and as Ariana began her solo, I realize just how much her dancing resembled mine: delicate, elegant, and regal. But there was one glaring difference. Ariana was calm, stoic, emotionally empty. My dancing had emotional intent and I was able to use my own life experiences to tell the story as well as I could, and I could make even the most boring parts dramatic. It was comforting to know that I was my own person, and would not defined as Ariana Orton's long lost daughter.  
•  
Later, I'm making my way to the stage for final announcements alone. Reyna had found a tiny rip in her bodice and went to get it fixed, allowing me time to revisit an old pre-show ritual of simply being alone with my breathing and thoughts.  
As I passed an open dressing room door, I heard crying. I stopped and gently pushed it open to discover Hollie, her hair curled and adorned with a bow, the Clara costume falling around her ankles.  
"Hollie, what's wrong?" I asked, entering the room and shutting the door behind me. "You're wearing the Clara costume."  
"M-Mia sl-slipped on the way to get d-dinner," she hiccuped. "She c-can't dance. I'm going o-on."  
"Why are you crying, then?" I knelt down in front of her chair. "That's what you wanted."  
"I'm scared!" Hollie wailed, burying her face in her hands. "I've only done the whole thing once, and now I have to dance it in front of everybody."  
"And why is performing a bad thing?" I grabbed a tissue from the box on her counter and wiped her eyes. "You told me how much you love it."  
"But what if I forget the steps? What I mess up?"  
"Just keep going." I smiled. "Sweetie, Vladimir wouldn't have you dancing this part if he and Naomi didn't believe in you. And I believe in you. You're going to be a beautiful Clara. Better than me."  
Her little face brightened. "Do you really think so?"  
"I know so." I grabbed a compact of powder and began to touch up her makeup. "Now, lets get you cleaned up, shall we?"

We arrive at the stage only minutes before the show begins, and Naomi sighs in relief.  
"Where were you two?" she demands.  
"Hollie had a bit of a makeup problem and I helped her fix it." I smiled, putting my arm around the little girl's shoulders.  
"Oh, never mind. You're here now. Opening positions, please, before Vladimir bites both of our heads off." Naomi waves us away and Hollie and I part ways, smiling at each other one last time before disappearing in the wings.  
I take Harry's arm and the hand of Hollie's understudy, and take a deep breath as the overture begins. Butterflies leap about my stomach and my knees flit back and forth, my entire body humming with desire to be onstage again.  
When the curtain rises and the music begins, I break into the biggest grin of my entire life, and as Harry leads me onstage, I can't help but cast a glance up to the sparkling balconies and whisper, "I'm back, baby."


	16. I'm Your Biggest Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night of the Nutcracker holds much more surprises for the girls than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry everyone for posting this so long after the last chapter! school's been cutting down on my writing time. :(

Caked in sticky stage makeup, we rush back to our dressing room after final curtain, stripping off our costumes and carefully placing them back into their hangers, so as not to rip anything. I kick my character shoes off and go turn on the faucet in my sink, waiting until the steaming water fills the bin. Standing there in nothing but my underwear, I hop onto the counter and plunge my feet into the sink, probably scalding them in the process, but not caring in the slightest. I massaged them, letting the water knead my tight muscles away, then scrub off the dirt with a new loofah. Ryn joins me at the adjacent sink, wiping her makeup off, flushed cheeks and a smile that stretched from ear to ear.  
“Good night, wasn’t it?” I grin, filing my toenails.  
“The best,” she breathes. “I’m so glad-“  
“What, that you didn’t get cast as a Snowflake? I agree. The show would’ve been a disaster otherwise.” Emma smirks, coming into the dressing room. Ugh. I whisper in Camryn’s ear, leaning over.  
“Well personally, I’M so glad she made a fool of herself out there. No company’s going to take her,” I say, and we giggle. Emma stops at the entrance to the showers, and curiously stares at me, almost as if she’s checking me out. I cross my arms over my chest, and sit criss-cross in the sink, surprised that I can even fit my legs in the basin.  
“Can I help you with something, Emma?” I say, obviously irritated. “Don’t tell me you’re into girls, now.”  
“Oh, no no no. Of course not. I was just admiring your scars and bruises. Did your new…’home’ do that to you?” she twitters.  
I visibly blanch, and my jaw clenches so hard I swear it’ll snap in two. Ryn has the heart to hand me her body towel, and I climb out of the sink, wrapping it around myself and hopping down from the counter. I march up to Emma, who’s sashaying to her shower, and grab her arm, making sure to dig my nails in. I whip them away, and find her blood on the tips.  
“Ow! That hurt, Reyna!”  
“But you know what, Emma? I don’t care.” I hiss. “You’re a big, fat bitch. Mind our own fucking business for once and keep your slimy nose out of mine and Ryn’s lives. H…they would never do that to us, and if you weren’t such a blind bat, maybe you’d notice that they’re not fresh. Use your little pea-sized brain, mmkay? Oh, that’s right. It’s so small you can’t even comprehend the complexity of our fucking situation. I damn well hope it hurt.” I grab my dance bag, pushing past a gaping Cassidy, and march out of the room with only the towel on, hitching it up. Ryn dashes out as well into the corridor, dragging her bag along with makeup still on half of her face.

  
“Reyna!” she whirls around, face aghast. “You’re going to get kicked out of the school for this, goddamnit!”  
“You know damn well she’s been asking for it ever since she got promoted,” I yell, heading into the public bathrooms at the Opera House. Ryn looks at me with wide eyes.  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. She just hit a really hard nerve.” I say softly, coming out of the stall in the clothes I wore this morning. “Let’s just go home and rest, okay? Whatever happens, happens.”  
“Okay.” she touches my shoulder. “But I’m warning you.They better not take out one of the best ballerinas here, or they’ll suffer.”  
“Oh hush.” I bat at her with my sleeve. “You’re about ten times a better dancer than I am. Like you were literally born to dance.”  
“Both of you are lovely dancers.” a familiar voice calls out, the smile heard through his tone even from here.  
“Tom!” we both whisper. “You’re not supposed to be up here!”  
“I know, I know. But a few friends wanted to come and see for themselves, and I couldn’t turn them down.” he says with a wink. That’s when Benedict pops his head out from behind Tom’s shoulder, and comes forward with his parents.  
“That was a lovely performance, you two,” he says, kissing us on the cheek and handing us each a bouquet of roses. “We absolutely can’t wait to see more.” Ryn and I look at each other, internally screaming and glee shining in our bright eyes.  
“My presents are in the car, girls.” Tom says, wrapping us in bear hugs.  
“Seriously, you didn’t have to get anything for us, Tom. We weren’t even a major part of the ballet, and having you here is good enough for us.” I mumble, shuffling my feet.  
“Ehehehe, sorry. I wanted to get you something for your first performance back, I’m so proud.” he apologizes.  
“Okay let’s go home before I start crying and ruining the makeup I just put on.” Ryn grumbles, and we all laugh.  
“Of course. My car is just out in the front, I’ll tell our driver to start the engine.” Tom says. “We all kind of took one car, so it will be a bit tight. I hope that’s alright.”  
“It’s no problem at all, Tom. Thank you,” I say. He wraps his arms around us, pulling us into his chest. We walk down the hallway, Benedict at my side, and his parents bringing up the rear. “To Tom’s house we go.”

As we approach the entrance of the Opera House, a strange noise seems to be emanating from outside, high-pitched and loud. I glanced at Tom, then Ben, and they both shrugged, not knowing what was going on. There were security guards outside, pressed against the glass revolving doors, but they weren’t there when we checked downstairs before heading onto stage. How odd. But then a flash blinds me out of the corner of my eye, and more simultaneously follow. I shield my eyes, and Tom and Benedict both realize at the same time.  
“Shit.”  
Tom whips out his cell phone and turns us around abruptly, almost pushing us in the opposite direction. He’s muttering words in a low tone so quickly I can’t decipher anything, so I turn to Ben instead. His already pale face is blanched. That’s when I hear a loud thud behind me, and for a split second see a young girl flinging herself at the door, a huge poster in her hand.  
Oh. Publicity. That’s what it is. Ryn starts to cry, and I hold her, forcibly shushing her to stop my own eyes from flooding over.  
“Oh why, why’d you come, Tom? And Ben? I’m so so…” she bawls. I grab her shoulders and shake Ryn, bringing her to her senses.  
“Hey! Snap out of it. There’s nothing we can do to stop them from coming now, only escape. You know the House better than I do. Get us out of here.” I command. She looks taken aback at my tone, then nods.  
We all follow her until we reach a door at some hidden corner of the Opera House, which leads out to a dark alleyway. I can hear Tom muttering into his phone for the driver to pick us up there instead, and I look back to make sure everyone is all here. Ryn peeks her head out of the door, but I yank her head back.  
“What the hell-“  
“Shhh! What if there’s someone out there? Someone that could’ve taken a picture of you?” I hiss.  
“Well there isn’t. I just checked.”  
So we tiptoe out, single file, even the slightest noise placing us all on high alert. Tom leads the group, arms thrown out behind us, guarding. I clutch Ryn’s wrist, right behind Tom, and Benedict is at the rear, constantly looking nervously back over his shoulder to check that no one was following us. We come to the edge of the parking lot. It was quiet. Too quiet.

That’s when they come out of nowhere, too fast. Photographers run out from tiny bushes and behind hidden corners, probably clicking their cameras so hard their fingers would get sore in seconds. Tom puts his hands over his eyes, and presses us to his back, smothering our faces in his shirt.  
“Whatever you do. Do. Not. Move. Your. Face.” he growls, showing that side of himself we had only seen once before in the ice cream parlor. We nod into the cotton, only being able to make out the citrus-and-fresh-air scent of Tom. The car comes, tires screeching, but with it a horde of fangirls, screaming and probably waving things around; I can’t tell. We’re blindly stumbling around in the mess, until a door opens, and Tom kisses our heads once more.

“I’m so sorry, girls. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them again.” he says, then almost throws us into the back of the Jaguar, along with our bags. We scream, waiting for the impact of leather seat on skull, but instead find ourselves with noses buried in something furry. I almost open my eyes, but remember Tom’s heeding, and squeeze them shut, trembling. The car may have the deepest tinted windows I’ve ever seen, but nothing a flash of film can’t expose. Ryn finds my hand and encloses it in hers, both of us trying to block out the shrill screams and clicks around us. Someone else files in after us in the back, Ben’s parents I’m guessing, and they sit silent, shutting the door with a bang. What seems like hours pass by, the four of us in this numb state, until another door opens and Ryn and I scream in terror.

“Shhhh, girls! It’s just me,” Benedict’s honey voice reassures. “Tom will be in just a minute.” So we bury our noses in the furry things deeper, until the passenger door opens one last time, and we hear muttering from what must be the two actors. Then, one word:

“Drive.”

The driver takes no chances as he squeals the gas pedal to the floor of the car; yet, he’s still not fast enough. I hear a thud from the window adjoining to me and scream again, huddling into a ball. 

“T...Tom. That was a fan, wasn’t it?” Camryn has the bravery to muster, her voice still muffled but the words ringing out so sharply. The silence that follows can only confirm our fears, and the whole car is heavy with the air of tension. Tom finally breaks the silence.

“You girls can remove your faces, now.” he sighs. We do, and find that our blockades from the outside world just a few minutes ago are instead giant stuffed animals, each with a bow around its neck. Mine is a majestic silver wolf, its fur shimmering even in the darkness of the car. I hug it to my chest possessively, drying my tears.

“I think I’ll call you Fenrir.” I declare proudly, paying homage to Tom’s Norse god counterpart and his son. “What about you, Ryn?” She gazes at her cheetah with longing.

“Fire.” she says fiercely. 

So we clutch Fenrir and Fire, cheeks resting against the cool glass where only a little while ago there were bodies pressed up against it. Gazing into the skyline, blurred by either my tears or just how fast we were driving, I distantly worry over what all went down today. Was it truly worth it, for me to be here, when I had not only caused the injuries of a fellow dancer, but now also put the added pressure of extra publicity and intrusion on some of the nicest celebrities in the world? Or was it better for me to stay away, from everyone and everything, hurting no one but myself?


End file.
